Memories of Madness
by firstcatfish
Summary: The past comes back to haunt them when Sam gets an email from someone he met while Dean was in Purgatory. Sam and Dean are launched into a case that will force them to deal with some of their unresolved issues or risk losing each other for good. Set loosely between 9x04 and 9x08 - COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Title: **Memories of Madness**

Rating: K+

Summary: The past comes back to haunt them when Sam gets an email from someone he met while Dean was in Purgatory. Sam and Dean are launched into a case that will force them to deal with some of their unresolved issues or risk losing each other for good. Set loosely between 9x04 and 9x08.

Warnings: Angst and some bathroom humor

Disclaimer: Don't own them, just playing.

A/N: Many thanks to my Dad for his thoughts and suggestions. For not being a Supernatural fan, he sure knows how to keep my muse going. And thanks to my Mom for providing the final beta.

**SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN**

**Chapter 1**

"Okay, that was just dumb." Dean slammed the bar on the door, opening it to admit bright afternoon sunshine into the relatively dark theater hallway.

Squinting a bit as his eyes adjusted to the change in lighting, Sam followed his brother. "It wasn't that bad. Granted, the books were a lot better, but there were some redeeming moments in the film."

"Seriously?" Dean stopped briefly to eye his brother before continuing to walk toward the parking lot where they had left the Impala. "You expect me to believe a bunch of kids live in a castle with ghosts roaming the hallways and they're all okay with that?"

"And a poltergeist," Sam said with a smile. The smile widened when his brother stopped to give him a confused look. "There's also a poltergeist named Peeves in the books, although the movies left him out."

Dean gave a disbelieving huff and turned to continue walking. "Any of those kiddos meet a real ghost or poltergeist and they aren't going to be waving sticks and chanting mumbo jumbo at them."

"Wands, Dean. And J.K. Rowling actually based her spells off of Latin, so the premise behind it isn't all that far-fetched."

"Whatever, Geek Boy. When did you even have time to read those things anyway? Aren't there 7 books in the series?"

The humor in Sam's eyes dimmed a bit and his smile was forced as he gave a nonchalant shrug. "Amelia liked the books."

An uncomfortable silence fell as the brothers reached the car and Dean unlocked it, searching for something to ease the awkwardness. Although they had both chosen to move past the issues that had divided them the year before, many of the topics were still unofficially taboo lest the peace between them be broken.

Settling behind the wheel of his "Baby," Dean deliberately turned the topic back to the movie they had just seen. "I did like the basilisk. The special effects were impressive…almost seemed real." He gave a small shudder. "I'd hate to run across that thing in a dark sewer. And that sword…Dude, I want one." He glanced at his brother with an almost childlike grin.

Sam's couldn't help but return the smile, the dark cloud that had threatened banished once more to the past. "You have at least 3 different swords hanging on the walls in your room and more in the trunk, Dean."

"But not the Sword of Gryffindor. Sword of a hero, magically appearing whenever you need it, capable of killing whatever monster it comes up against…" Dean gave a happy sigh as he momentarily allowed wishful thinking to capture his imagination.

Sam gave a snort of laughter. "It would definitely solve the problem of having our weapons knocked out of our hands every time we get slammed up against a wall." Pulling out his phone, he turned it back on and opened his email to check for recent messages. He'd sent a bit of lore to Garth earlier to be passed on to a hunter who needed it and he wanted to see if their scrawny friend needed anything else from the Men of Letters' archive.

"There, you see?" Dean took one hand off the wheel to wag a finger at his brother. "You never can have too many weapons." He did a double take when he heard his brother's hissed intake of breath and suddenly tense features. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Sam replied, a bit too quickly, ignoring his big brother's almost palpable worry as he scanned the email he had just opened. The lines on his forehead deepened in concern as he read. Glancing at Dean, he knew he needed to tell him something. Dean looked ready to pull the car to the side of the road and demand an explanation. "Just got an email from a friend of mine I haven't heard from in a while."

"From Stanford?" Dean asked quietly. His tone was almost hopeful and Sam cringed a bit. He didn't have all that many friends that Dean didn't know about, and the periods of time in which he might have made those friends were dark enough to make the nearly four years he had spent in college a preferable explanation.

"No," Sam said simply, choosing not to explain. He would be doing more of that than he was comfortable with if he and Dean took this case as it was. He was surprised by how much he wanted to just ignore the email, delete it, and pretend that that time in his life hadn't happened. He owed Doc Johnson, though, more than he wanted to admit. He glanced at his brother who was still giving him worried looks at the silence.

Sam knew that he hadn't been the best of brothers to Dean since his return from Purgatory, but without Doc's persistence and refusal to give up on him, Dean might not have had any brother to return to.

**SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN**

**_-Flashback, Anoka State Hospital, Doctor Mike Johnson's office-_**

_Doctor Michael Johnson sighed heavily before removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes tiredly. The current cause of his tension headache stood in rigid silence in front of the large windows looking out over the expansive, well-manicured lawn behind the mental institution. He was fingering the jacket he wore all the time now._

"_Sam," he said gently, his tone betraying none of his building frustration. He had been trying to get the young man to talk to him for nearly a month now and the thick bandages on his patient's arms underneath the jacket told him that he had to get through to him and soon. "Do you really think this is what your brother would have wanted for you? Stuck in a mental hospital, on near permanent suicide watch?" _

"_You don't know anything about Dean or what he would want for me." Sam spoke quietly, without turning around. The deadness and lack of intonation in his voice was almost frightening. Even in all his years at the state hospital, Mike had rarely seen a young man this close to self-destructing, and he wondered fleetingly what the collateral damage would be when he did._

"_Then tell me. You need to talk about this, Sam. The anger and bitterness inside you almost destroyed you last night. Let me help you." Grasping for something, anything that would get through to Sam, he said, "Tell me about your brother."_

_That brought a response. Sam turned slowly to face the psychiatrist responsible for his care. In contrast to the flatness of his voice, his eyes burned with so much emotion it was almost difficult to look at for long. Mike forced himself to meet that gaze without flinching, feeling as though he were being measured and evaluated and wondering if he would survive the test. He didn't have to wait long, however, before the fierceness in Sam's eyes wavered and broke, leaving behind a vast desert of loneliness and despair. Sinking into a chair opposite the doctor, he bowed his head and shoulders, the picture of hopelessness. _

"_Sam," the doctor prodded gently. Sam looked up and then squared his shoulders, either in determination or resignation._

"_You won't believe me." The twist to his lips registered a cynicism far too ingrained for a man as young as he was. Mike simply looked at him and waited until Sam huffed a laugh and turned away. "You want to know about Dean? Fine. I guess the family secret doesn't matter much anymore…"_

**SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN**

**-Present-**

"Sam?" The echo of Doc Johnson's plea in his big brother's worried tone jerked Sam back to the present. Squaring his shoulders, he decided to get it over with.

"Doctor Michael Johnson. He's a psychiatrist who works at Anoka State Hospital in Minnesota. He has something that might be up our alley."

"Okay," Dean replied tentatively and Sam felt a burst of gratitude that his brother wasn't going to push the issue of how he knew Doc. He knew he'd have to come clean eventually, but he wanted time to prepare, to figure out what he was going to tell Dean so that he didn't mess everything up again.

"Apparently patients have been disappearing from the facility over the last few months. At first they thought they were escaping somehow, but there were no signs that the missing men ever left the buildings."

"Anoka State Hospital," Dean mused. "I know that name…from Dad's journal I think. He noted it was a hotspot for supernatural activity. Weren't there supposed to be all kinds of tunnels under the institution that prisoners used to escape?"

"Patients, Dean, not prisoners. Most of the people who live there are not criminals. And yes, there are extensive tunnels under the property, but they have been closed off for years and none of the patients have access to the entrances."

"That they know of," Dean snorted. "You and I know better than anyone about hidden entrances and exits." Reaching behind him, he grabbed a bottle of water from the backseat and anchored it between his legs while he twisted the cap off.

Sam pursed his lips and shrugged in acknowledgement. "Yes, well, the patients who disappeared all lived in the new facility which has no known connections to the network of tunnels under the old location. And…get this…they always turn up within a couple of hours hundreds, if not thousands, of miles away. One guy showed up on stage with a bunch of dancing showgirls at the Riviera in Las Vegas…" he paused for effect. "He was buck naked."

Dean spewed water over the steering wheel and dashboard and began coughing violently. Grabbing the steering wheel, Sam helped his brother steer the car to the side of the road before they ended up wrapped around a tree. He watched in amusement as Dean pounded on his chest, his eyes watering as he struggled to breathe, cough and laugh at the same time. "Naked?" he finally gasped. "On stage with a bunch of showgirls?"

"In front of a packed audience," Sam finished with amusement. "Authorities think he somehow slipped backstage and through the curtain without anyone noticing."

"Oh, I definitely want to do this job, Sam," Dean chortled, his fertile imagination fleshing out the scenario his brother had given him.

Sam shook his head at his brother's gutter filled mind and turned back to his phone as Dean scrounged up a couple of napkins to clean up the water and got back on the road. "Not all of them got girls, Dean. One guy appeared in the middle of a group touring the Alamo. Another got dropped in front of a famous restaurant in Chinatown, and the last one appeared behind a priest during a church service." Both brothers winced. "All naked, all puking their guts out."

"It does sound like it might be our kind of thing," Dean admitted, glancing at Sam. He had an inkling that there was something here Sam wasn't telling him, and he intended to get to the bottom of it. Besides, it had been a while since they had had an interesting case, and Dean was willing to welcome anything that didn't reek of angels and demons. "So, back to the Batcave for some rest and on to Minnesota first thing in the morning?"

"Sounds like a plan," Sam said, putting the phone aside and turning to look out at the darkened countryside flashing by the windows. He wondered how much of the easy camaraderie they had experienced tonight would still be there when Dean learned the truth about him.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Memories of Madness

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: Don't own them, just playing.

A/N: Merry Christmas, everyone! I hope you had a wonderful holiday.

**-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

**Chapter 2**

**5:00 p.m. Anoka-Metro Regional Treatment Center (Anoka State Hospital)**

Pulling to a stop in front of the large hospital, Dean gave a low whistle. The parking lot sat in front of an impressive L-shaped building with another building visible off to the left. The structure in front of them was 3 stories tall at its highest point. What it lacked in height, however, it made up for in sheer size, the red brick façade and cultured landscaping not quite softening the institutional feeling of the place. Dean shivered and quelled down the sudden desire to peel out of the parking lot and head back home.

His uneasiness was magnified when he turned to look at his brother. Sam had started out the journey okay, joking and bantering with him over breakfast, but the closer they got to Anoka, Minnesota, the tenser his brother had become. Now, Sam sat rigidly in the passenger seat, staring out at the large facility. His face was impassive, but the tenseness in his shoulders and the absolute stillness of his arms and legs reminded Dean of the mornings after Sam woke screaming from nightmares he refused to talk about. The set of his jaw and the way he was steadfastly avoiding Dean's gaze told Dean that his brother was expecting him to ask and was equally not ready to share whatever secret was weighing him down.

Swallowing a sigh, he asked simply, "When is he expecting us?"

"No, Dean, I don't…" Sam jumped and seemed to hear the question for the first time. "Oh…um." He fumbled with his phone, covering his lapse. Dean's stomach clenched as he watched his little brother and wondered if there would ever be a time when there were no secrets between them. Considering the massive secret he was keeping from Sam concerning Ezekiel, though, he couldn't in good conscience push Sam to open up more than he was ready or willing to.

"He said his shift ends at 5 today and he'd meet us in his office around 5:30." Sam's voice brought Dean back to the present, and he gave a quick glance at his watch.

"Let's head in then. It's almost show time." He opened the car door, hearing the squeal of the passenger side that signaled Sam was doing the same. Despite making a 9 hour drive in 8 hours, he felt stiff and sore. He stretched with a groan, remembering the days when he could drive for nearly 24 hours without regretting it the next day. The joys of growing older, he supposed. He'd never imagined he would hit 30 much less 35 and his hard life was catching up to him in the aches and pains he felt any time he sat for too long. Slamming his door in time with Sam's, the brothers strode up to the front of the hospital and under the bright red awning sheltering the wide double doors.

Inside, Dean began to head for the information desk to find out where to go, but he realized that Sam had passed him and taken the lead. Shrugging, he followed his brother down a long hall with what looked like offices on either side. Most were closed and dark since it was the end of the work day, but several still had lights on and doors open. Few people roamed the halls, but Sam kept his head down and avoided looking at any of them as he went around a couple of corners and down a few short hallways before exiting the building into a huge central courtyard.

Dean stopped a moment to take in the view. The Treatment Center consisted of 4 buildings set in the shape of a pentagon with the L-shaped building behind them forming the tip. Each of the 4 buildings was easily as large as some of the hospitals he and Sam had frequented. The structures were connected by an enclosed walkway that surrounded and secured the central courtyard. A few people were still outside, even with dusk falling earlier and the chill in the air marking the onset of autumn. A few patients in white scrubs walked the paths, some accompanied by a nurse or an orderly.

Sam had not stopped and was halfway across the plaza when Dean quit gawking and jogged to catch up. "You sure you know where to go?" he asked, though Sam had not hesitated once in his journey through the compound. A dark suspicion began to form in Dean's mind.

Sam nodded tersely. "I got directions from Doc Johnson." Dean wasn't sure how he knew that was a lie, but he would bet the Bat Cave that his brother had been here before. Why, he was not yet sure of, but he didn't like the uneasiness forming a tight ball of acid in his gut.

On the other side of the courtyard, they entered the walkway briefly before going through a second door into the interior of the building. Both brothers paused as they entered a well-lit common room. A few tables were scattered on one side of the room, while couches and easy chairs dominated the other side. A number of men were seated around the room, chatting quietly with each other or simply staring into space, lost in their own thoughts. A couple were crouched over what looked like a game of chess at a table, while a few others watched cartoons on a small TV set in the corner. All of the people in the room were dressed in white scrubs, with the hospital logo embossed on the left shoulder.

A few of the patients glanced up at their entrance, but quickly turned back to whatever they had been doing. Sam stood rigidly beside him, a frozen look on his face that kind of scared Dean. He had seen his brother face down half a dozen demons with less fear than he saw on his face now. It reinforced the certainty that Sam had been here before at some point and that the experience had been less than positive. Dean almost snarled at that, but pushed his own emotions down deep. It looked like Sam's were going to be more than enough for both of them to deal with.

Nudging his brother's shoulder, he started across the room toward the nurse's station on the far side and a door that looked like it led to the rest of the building. He relaxed a bit as he felt his brother at his back. They had almost made it through when one of the nurses at the nurse's station looked up, her expression of greeting morphing into one of shock.

"Sam?" She said, coming quickly from behind the desk to meet them. "Sam Winchester?"

Dean felt his brother stiffen, but as he moved to intercede on his brother's behalf, tell the lady she was mistaken or something, he heard Sam say, "Tina. It's good to see you."

Glancing at his brother, he saw Sam smile and reach out to shake her hand. The smile seemed real, though it did nothing to ease the tension and discomfort in his eyes. Nevertheless, he decided to step back and let his brother call the plays. He needed more info before he could figure out what was going on here.

"It's been a long time," Tina was saying, a bright smile lighting up her features. She was of average height, her eyes the prettiest thing about her in a face that tended toward plain and nondescript. Her light brown hair was streaked through with gray.

Sam coughed uncertainly, sending a quick glance at his brother. "Yeah, I guess it has been. I didn't really expect to see anyone I knew."

Tina laughed and Dean revised his opinion of her. The laugh, along with her eyes, was the prettiest thing about her. "Oh, Honey, I'm a lifer. I've been here longer than even Dr. Mike. The others may come and go, but I will stick it out to the end. So who is this handsome fellow with you?"

Dean stepped forward and extended a hand. "I'm Dean," he said with a smile, "I'm Sam's…"

"…coworker," Sam cut in hurriedly, and Dean looked at him curiously. However, he decided not to contradict his brother's statement.

"Right," he said instead. "We have an appointment to see Doctor Johnson at 5:30. Would you mind pointing us in the right direction?"

Tina shook his hand warmly, her grip firm and confidant. "I'm sure Sam remembers the way, right, Honey?"

Sam forced a smile and nodded jerkily.

"Well, you'd better not keep the doctor waiting," Tina said, motioning toward the door leading to the rest of the building. "Maybe we can chat again sometime before you leave. You look like you're doing a lot better and I'd love to hear what you've been up to."

Sam murmured something non-committal and hurried past her toward the door. Dean sent another smile at the nurse before following his brother. Sam didn't speak as he moved up the hallway and turned right. They walked past a number of doors that looked as though they led into patient rooms. Like most of the doors Dean had observed in this place, each room had what looked like an electronic card scanner attached to the door above the handle. Some patients wandered the halls, but none looked at them and no one else challenged them as they made a quick left into a short hallway that led to what looked like an exterior exit. On the right was a door with two brass name plates mounted on it. Dean immediately recognized one of the names as that of the doctor they were here to see. Sam stopped with his hand on the door knob. A tremor shook his frame, but he made no move to enter.

"Sam?" Dean questioned, stepping forward to lay a hand on his brother's shoulder. Sam turned toward him with an expression so raw that Dean fought down the urge to take a step back. The hazel eyes, closer to brown than green or blue at the moment, reflected the memory of loss and pain.

"Sammy, when were you here?" Dean changed his question, the need to know stronger than the burning in his gut that pulsed as he waited for the confirmation of his fears. Sam cleared his throat roughly and looked away.

Dean thought he was going to ignore the question and was about to press harder when he heard the quiet, "After SucroCorp." Dean swallowed suddenly and fought the feeling of lightheadedness the answer brought. He had suspected, but…

"So there was more than hit a dog, met a girl, tried for normal." It was a statement, not a question. More than abandoning his big brother to Purgatory because he couldn't be troubled to look for him. Once the pain and bitterness of those first few months had faded and their relationship had steadied, Dean had begun to suspect he had not gotten the full story from Sam. Shame and the fear of stirring up old tensions, however, had kept him from voicing his thoughts.

Instead of replying, Sam looked at the floor for a long moment, before glancing at Dean then back at the door. Squaring his shoulders, he grabbed the knob. "He's waiting for us," was all he said as he opened the door and stepped inside.

**-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

The door opened into a small waiting room with a secretary's cubicle directly opposite the entrance and two closed doors presumably leading to offices on either side. In the cubicle sat a girl who looked to be in her mid-twenties. She was pretty if not stunning, with brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and soft brown eyes. Her nametag read Carlie Sims.

If Dean hadn't been so focused on his brother and the tension zinging off of him in waves, he might have taken the opportunity to flirt. However, he wasn't given the chance since Sam had stepped in to take the lead once more, the raw brokenness he had shown in the corridor outside hidden behind a friendly professional mask. Dean wondered sadly when Sam had gotten so good at hiding his emotions behind masks. He had always thought that that was his method of dealing with things, not sensitive emo-Sammy. He made a note to pay more attention in the future to the things his brother was hiding.

Sam was talking to the receptionist, Dean realized with a start, chiding himself for fading into his thoughts again. That kind of behavior got hunters killed.

"Of course," Carlie responded with a cheerful smile as she reached for a phone on her desk. "I'll let him know you're here."

Taking a step back from the desk, Dean watched as his brother gave him a nervous glance and wiped sweaty palms on his suit pants. He then reached up to check his tie and straighten his jacket; all tells that he was nervous about the upcoming interview. Dean stayed quiet, checking his own clothes to make sure he looked professional, glad they had taken the time to change at a rest stop just outside Anoka.

A moment later, the door to the left opened and a short, chubby man stepped out. His steel gray hair was thinning into a bald patch on top and he wore small wire rimmed spectacles in front of eyes that were almost as gray as his hair. Those eyes sparkled in genuine pleasure and matched the wide smile as he stepped forward to greet Sam. Dean was surprised when Sam actually relaxed a bit in the man's presence enough to give a small but real smile in return. He decided right then that he liked Doctor Johnson, despite the fact that he was a shrink.

"Doc, this is my brother, Dean," Sam explained, stepping to one side to introduce the two. Dean was surprised that his brother would choose to give this man his true identity while hiding it from the nurse.

Doc Johnson gave a start, his smile fading as his gaze darted back and forth between the two men. Dean wondered how much he knew about them, the circumstances surrounding SucroCorp and his own disappearance. From the expression on his face, like he was looking at a ghost, Dean would bet that Sam had told him he was dead. His respect for the man grew as the doctor glanced at the curious secretary and kept his questions to himself. He simply stepped forward to shake Dean's hand before motioning the two men into his office and closing the door firmly behind them.

"Sam?" The doctor questioned, glancing meaningfully at Dean.

Sam sighed. "It's a long story, Doc. I'll tell you later. For now, how about you fill us in on these disappearances you've been having." To Dean, Sam explained, "Doc here is the lead psychiatrist for this wing of the hospital and a respected member of the Board of Directors."

"That explains why you'd have the authority to call us in," Dean remarked, settling into one of the plush brown chairs sitting in front of a normal sized desk covered in papers, books and an ancient looking computer. It looked like the hospital spent most of its money on providing state of the art security and had little left over to provide technology for its staff.

Except for the chairs, obviously designed for the comfort of the doctor's visitors, the rest of the room showed an amazing lack of pretentiousness. On the left, wall to wall bookcases stuffed with books showed a mind ready and eager to learn. To the right was a less formal sitting room near large windows looking out toward the river and the old mansions of the former hospital. A faux fireplace burned cheerfully from the inside wall. The area was probably where the man met with his patients, Dean mused. He wondered where the…

"Wondering why I don't have the stereotypical couch for patients to lay on while I listen to their funky dreams?" The humor in the doctor's voice made Dean like him even more and he smiled back, cheekily.

"Disappointed, actually. I was going to take a nap while you and Sammy talk business."

Doctor Johnson laughed, a surprisingly deep full laugh from a man who probably only came up to Dean's chin. "I ditched the couch about a year out of med school when I realized it actually made my clients more uncomfortable instead of relaxing them. I prefer to stick to the fake fireplace there for the warm, homey feel."

Pulling out a bottle of Scotch and three glasses, he poured into two before glancing seriously at Sam. "On any meds, Sam?" he asked, his gaze level and lacking in either judgment or condescension.

Sam shook his head. "I'm clean, Doc. Promise." Dean looked sharply at his brother, but Sam simply returned his gaze with a neutral expression before turning back to the doctor to accept the offered glass.

Dean accepted his own glass with a thoughtful frown. He didn't think Sam had been addicted to any drugs. His experience with demon blood addiction had been lesson enough in that area. But he didn't like the idea of his little brother on any other kinds of medication either. He and Sam were going to have a serious talk when they found a motel room that evening.

"So tell us more about what's happening, Dr. Mike," Sam asked again in his soft and serious interviewer's voice. It was the voice that had caused many a witness to open up even while talking about crazy impossible events. Dean gave the doctor his own encouraging smile and leaned back to hear what he had to say.

"As Sam was telling you," Doc Johnson began slowly, addressing Dean, "I'm the lead psychiatrist for this building and have been privy to the attacks since they started."

"Whoa," Dean said as he leaned forward. "Attacks? I thought they were just disappearances with the victims showing up in odd places."

"Each of the patients involved insist that they were abducted, although they can't say by whom or even how it happened. Granted, none of them are exactly stable and so their stories are suspect, but since we have no other explanation as to how this is happening, we are wavering between handling the events as abductions or escapes." Doc sighed as he leaned back in his chair. "The police have been no help. There are no witnesses other than the victims themselves, no evidence. We can't even pin down exactly where the attacks took place. All we know is that all of the victims lived in this wing and disappeared from here as well."

"How well are the entrances and exits guarded?" Dean asked. He noted that Doc Johnson glanced at Sam before answering the question and Sam's lips twitched in response. Dean felt a swell of pride. He'd bet that no matter how well guarded they were, they had not been designed well enough to contain a Winchester against his will.

"All windows are safety glass and sealed, as well as alarmed. Most doors throughout the facility are kept unlocked during business hours to allow for movement between buildings, but each patient is fitted with an ankle bracelet programmed to set off an alarm if they enter an area where they aren't allowed to be or exit the building. Security cameras are also set at all entrances and exits and monitored constantly." Dean raised his brows and cocked his head, silently impressed. This confirmed his earlier thoughts about state of the art security.

"After each of the disappearances," the doctor continued, "we scanned the cameras and alarm records for all the exits. There was no record of an unauthorized exit. There is no way they could have gotten out without being observed. Even Sam…" He broke off with a sheepish look at the younger Winchester that made Dean wonder if Sam hadn't had help making his escape, asked for or not. The thoughtful expression on Sam's face reflected his musings.

"Sam told me what the two of you do for a living," the doctor said quietly, his focus on Dean. "I didn't believe it at first, but I did some research and enough things matched up with what he told me that…" He trailed off, his eyes on the wall behind Dean now, glazed in thought. They shifted to Sam, though, with the next comment. "I didn't know if you had returned to hunting or would even consider it, but I didn't have anyone else to turn to and thought you might be willing to recommend someone even if you couldn't take it on yourself."

Sam met the doctor's gaze, a flash of the pain Dean had seen out in the hallway surfacing momentarily in his brother's expressive eyes. He turned and met Dean's questioning look with a sad smile and a nod. He'd be okay to do this. "I've been hunting again since I found out Dean wasn't dead," he said, his attention returning to the doctor. "I can't say I like being back here again, but I owe you, Doc, and I do my best to pay my debts."

"You don't owe me anything, Sam," the doctor said quietly, his own face suddenly sad. "I know how it is to need a friend to hold you up when you don't have the strength to do it yourself. I'm glad I was able to be there for you." Sam's gaze fell to his lap and he shifted uncomfortably.

"Nevertheless," the doc segued smoothly, "I won't say I'm not grateful to you two for coming and I've thought about how to explain your presence here without sending a whirlwind of gossip through the nursing staff and patients. I considered sending you in undercover as orderlies, but I wasn't sure about uniform size and my nurses would figure out pretty quickly that your aren't doing an orderly's job. So, I thought it might be just as easy to introduce you as consultants I've brought in to figure out how the patients are getting out of the building."

Sam and Dean exchanged glances and shrugged. Often the best lie was a form of the truth. This would allow them to go wherever they needed to go and ask nosy questions without being suspected. "Sounds good, Doc," Dean replied for them.

"Obviously, the best time for you to snoop around would be after hours," the doctor continued, "but if you need to do anything that might be loud or violent, I'd appreciate it if you could give me a head's up if possible so I can move any patients in the area. Some of these men are very susceptible to panic attacks, and I would hate to be the cause of deterioration in their condition."

"Of course," Sam replied smoothly, no indication in his manner that he had probably been in that same position at one time. "We're probably going to want to interview the victims and do some background research first, though, before we scout out the building. Will tomorrow be okay?"

"Certainly," the doctor replied. "I'll have IDs made and ready for you at the front desk first thing in the morning. They'll be programmed to allow you into any restricted area of the building. Do you want me to use your real names or…" He trailed off, eyeing them questioningly.

"Tina recognized me," Sam said quietly and the doctor gave a resigned nod.

"Your real name then. Did you tell her who he is?" he asked, gesturing to Dean.

"I thought it might bring up unnecessary questions," Sam replied simply. "I told her he's my coworker."

"Use 'Dean Ulrich,'" Dean said with a grin. Even Sam smiled at his choice. Dr. Johnson simply nodded, obviously missing the reference. He got up and retrieved a white envelope from the top drawer of a filing cabinet behind his desk.

Reaching across the desk, he handed the white envelope to Sam. "When you emailed me that you were coming, I called the Best Western a couple miles down the street. That voucher should get you either one room or two, as you please, along with whatever amenities you want. There's also a Visa card in there that you can use for meals or whatever expenses you need to finish this job."

"Generous," Dean said in surprise as Sam took the envelope. He and Sam were not used to having their expenses paid for by the people they helped.

The doctor smiled, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "I think I can also probably wrangle a sizeable check out of the Board of Directors if you can get the disappearances to stop. The embarrassment factor alone is seriously putting a damper on our reputation."

"You don't need to…" Sam started, stretching a hand out toward the doctor.

"Pshaw," the doctor said dismissively, waving away Sam's protest. "I happen to know you guys don't get paid for what you do, so I think it's only fair that you get appreciation in more than just words once in a while." Dipping his chin, he leveled a look at Sam that had the younger man backing down with a shrug. Dean pursed his lips in a silent whistle of appreciation. He'd have to remember that look for the next time Sam was being stubborn. In the meantime…

Standing up, he stretched his own hand out to the doctor and received a firm handshake. "Thanks, Doc. We'll take you up on your offer and be back here in the morning to talk to the vics."

Doctor Johnson smiled and nodded before turning to Sam. Shaking the younger man's hand, he held on for a moment longer as he said, "Call me, if you need me. Day or night. You know that, right?"

Sam held his gaze for a moment and nodded silently, releasing the doctor's grip and heading for the door.

As they walked back across the courtyard, Dean shot furtive glances at his little brother. Sam didn't seem to be upset, but he had on his deep thinking look and Dean found he hated not knowing what his brother was tossing around in that huge brain of his. As he opened his mouth to ask, though, Sam said, "Not now, Dean." Meeting his brother's gaze, he smiled to take the sting away. "I promise I'll tell you…more…later, but I can't right now." He turned his attention back to the sidewalk.

"Okay, little brother," Dean replied, "But I'm taking you up on that offer after we've had some rest and a decent meal."

Sam simply nodded and opened the door to the main building, gesturing for Dean to enter first. Dean did so, promising himself that this time he wouldn't let Sam slide by with half-truths and deflections. It was time they put some of this to rest.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Memories of Madness

Warnings: Angst and some bathroom humor

Disclaimer: Don't own them, just playing.

A/N: This story is completely written, just waiting on the final beta. Please review. I'd love to hear what you think as we go along. Thanks again to Mom for the beta. I have tinkered a bit with it since then, so remaining errors are mine.

**-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

**Chapter 3**

"Dean…NO!"

The anguish and heartbreak in the shout had Dean launching out of bed and across the narrow aisle separating him from his brother before his eyes had even figured out how to open. Grabbing Sam's shoulders as he leaned over him, he barely avoided a broken nose as his brother sat bolt upright, the glaze of sleep and remembered terror painting Sam's face and quickening his breathing.

Murmuring soothing words he wasn't aware of, Dean maintained his grip on Sam's upper arms until his little brother's eyes began to clear and his breathing slowed down. Still, Dean waited until his brother gave a jerky nod and pushed himself back against the headboard before he released his hold and began to try to slow his own racing heart. He didn't have to ask what the nightmare was about. Considering the events of the day before, he figured it had been of the night Dick Roman had launched Cas and him into the murky nightmare of Purgatory leaving his brother utterly alone for the first time in his life.

Keeping each other company in the dark, they each listened to the other breathe until their breaths were coming in unison. Then, Dean reached over to the nightstand between the 2 beds, and flipped on the lamp. Sam shied from the light, but didn't protest, so Dean left it on as he got up and walked to the bathroom to fill a glass of water for his brother. He wouldn't have said no to something stronger, but he didn't want the conversation they needed to have muddied by alcohol.

Handing the glass of water to his brother, he sat back on the edge of Sam's bed and waited while the younger man held the cup and sipped from it far longer than necessary. That was okay. Dean was familiar with most of Sam's stalling tactics, and he also knew he could out wait his brother if necessary. He lost patience with a lot of things these days, and had more than once with Sam, but when Sam needed to talk, pushing only locked him up tighter than a clam. He wished he had remembered that last year, but he had been too raw and hurting from his own experiences in Purgatory and Sam's perceived betrayal to want to take the time and effort needed to crack that shell.

"You have many nightmares like that while I was gone?" Dean asked quietly when his brother lowered the cup.

Sam's eyes skated off of his before returning to the glass in his hand. He began swirling the remaining water as though it were a fine wine. "Yeah," he responded finally, clearing his sleep roughened voice with a cough. "Dr. Mike prescribed some sleeping pills, but they don't stop the dreams, you know, just make it harder to wake up."

Dean nodded. He did know. Neither he nor Sam was fond of any kind of medication that caused drowsiness and used them only when absolutely necessary. He wondered if those were the kinds of meds the doctor had been asking Sam about earlier.

"How'd you get past them?"

Sam shrugged. "Didn't really. They got a little less intense with time, but they never really went away…just stopped waking the entire ward with me." He quirked a small smile which Dean returned.

Looking down, he considered his next question carefully. "So…Doc seems like a decent guy," he prodded gently.

Sam nodded thoughtfully, his eyes lost in memory…

_**-Flashback, Anoka State Hospital, Room 107, nearly 2 years previously-**_

_The sounds of screaming mixed with yells and shouts punctuated by thuds and bangs echoed down the corridor as Dr. Mike Johnson hurried toward room 107. Using his pass card, he swiped impatiently at the reader above the door handle. The rooms locked down at the push of a button if a patient started acting aggressively or showed signs of hurting himself or others. This patient, however, had not posed even a whisper of a threat since he had arrived three weeks earlier. In fact, he had made no indication he even knew he was still alive._

_As the door swung open, Dr. Johnson saw the man in question, locked into a straightjacket and held down by two orderlies as a nurse approached with a syringe. The patient was screaming and bucking with all his strength. After three weeks of virtually no movement at all, he shouldn't have had the strength to fight off a lamb, let alone two grown men nearly as tall as he was and almost twice as wide. The terror on his face explained a lot, even as it left more questions._

"_Stop!" the doctor called out in a voice that had always been able to stop anyone in their tracks from the time he was young. He blessed his father, the military man, who had taught him that voice, as predictably, all movement and sound in the room ceased for a moment. Even the patient looked up, startled, forgetting to keep fighting. _

"_Tina," he addressed the nurse first. "You know how I feel about sedatives."_

"_Doctor," she protested. "He's going to hurt himself and others if this isn't stopped, and…" She trailed off under Mike's stern glance and obediently stepped back, recapping the syringe._

"_Tom and Joe," he said, addressing the orderlies next. "I think you can let him go now." Warily, the orderlies let go and sprang back, expecting the patient to continue fighting. Tom had a bruise beginning on his cheekbone, and Joe was favoring his ribs. The man in the straightjacket, however, simply skittered back to the farthest corner of the room and scrunched down into himself, appearing so much smaller than the tall, powerful man Mike figured he had once been._

_Eyeing the pathetic visage of his most intriguing patient, he said quietly, "You guys can leave now. I'll take it from here."_

"_But doctor…" three sets of voices protested at once. He cut them off with a stern glance._

"_He is much calmer now and since he seems to be aware for the first time in almost a month, I'm not going to get anywhere if he is sedated to the gills or being made to feel as though he is being attacked." The three looked abashed, and he softened his voice a bit. "You did your jobs and handled the situation correctly. But I can take over now."_

_Nodding, the nurse waved an arm at the two orderlies and brushed by the doctor as she left the room, throwing a concerned glance over her shoulder. _

_Alone at last, the doctor surveyed his patient and the destroyed room around him. Choosing to give the man time to compose himself, he neither moved closer nor addressed him. Instead, he started picking up items that had been flung on the floor and righting the few pieces of furniture in the room that had been tipped over or pushed out of place. While he was working, he could feel the eyes of his mystery patient following him from the corner._

_When the room was as tidy as he could make it, he turned his attention to the man tucked into the corner with his knees pulled protectively to his chest. His long brown hair was messed up and hung in his eyes. A scruff of beard showed that the orderlies had not gotten around to shaving him this morning, and the razor and basin of water he had found upended on the floor gave a clue as to what might have started this whole fiasco._

_With a groan, he lowered himself to the floor, about three feet away from the patient. He was getting too old for this kind of thing, he mused as he studied the man in front of him. Hazel eyes peered back at him, partly blue, partly green, with a hint of rich chocolate brown as well. Despite the distance between them, Mike hadn't missed the man's flinch back when he sat on the floor and was careful to make no move toward him just yet. Instead, the two studied each other for a full five minutes with no movement._

_Just as Mike thought all of his joints were going to freeze in place, the patient shifted uncomfortably and jerked at the arms of the straightjacket with an irritated grimace._

"_Would you like me to take that off?" Mike's voice, though quiet, was startling in the still room and the man jumped. Eyeing the doctor warily, he eventually gave a short nod. Moving carefully, and allowing the patient to see his hands at all times, he approached and began to work the buckles of the straightjacket._

_As soon as he felt the jacket loosening, the man jerked back from Mike's touch and began frantically yanking at the sleeves. Since the straps and buckles had been undone, the doctor chose to move back rather than continue to help. He watched as the patient pulled the straightjacket off and flung it aside, before returning to his wary perusal of the doctor in front of him._

_Mike felt a thrill of fear for a moment at the possibility that this man could probably take him apart, even in his weakened state, if he so chose. He had broken all kinds of hospital policies by releasing him, but the patient made no move to budge from his corner. _

"_My name is Dr. Mike," he began, keeping his voice low and unthreatening. "What's your name?"_

_There was no response from the tense man in front of him. Mike continued undeterred, "Can you tell me why you panicked and started fighting my staff? I'd like to make sure whatever they did doesn't happen again so we don't have to resort to that again." He gestured toward the straightjacket on the floor where it had been flung. By placing the blame on his staff, he hoped to reduce some of the defensiveness he could feel in the rigid shoulders and body language._

_For a minute, he thought the man would rebuff his efforts again, but a low voice soon replied, hoarse and hesitant as though unsure how to voice thoughts and feelings after so long._

"_Don't touch… Please don't…no…touch," his face and body shuddered hard as he stuttered out the words. "Don't call me Sammy. Only Dean gets to call me that." Mike raised his eyebrows in surprise at that last statement, but let no other indication show of his triumph at finally having something getting close to a name for this man that had been admitted, catatonic and without identity three weeks previously. The name "Dean" also gave him something to work with. The fact that this person was the only one allowed to use what was obviously an endearment meant that they might be close to tracking down family for this tortured young man._

"_Okay," he replied gently. "We won't call you that. Can you tell me what we should call you? Do you prefer Sam or Samuel?"_

_Another shudder ripped through the man's form at the last name. "Not Samuel," he declared firmly, almost vehemently. The doctor filed that information as a touchy subject to maybe address later._

"_Sam, then." He was rewarded by a slow nod from the man in the corner. He smiled. "Okay, Sam, I'll make sure to put a note in your file so that the staff knows not to touch you without your permission, okay?" He waited again, until he got another tentative nod from Sam._

_Searching for where to take the conversation next, inspiration hit with a rumble from Sam's stomach. With a smile, he gestured toward the door. "Are you hungry? I can let the nurse on duty know to bring us some breakfast, and then maybe we can talk a bit." His patient didn't reply, but he also didn't flinch back when Mike got to his feet with another groan and headed to the door._

_He wasn't surprised to find Joe stationed right outside in case he was needed. Passing out the straight razor and the bowl that had held water, he quietly asked for an electric razor and a tray of food. Joe nodded and hurried off to get the requested items._

_Turning back to the room, he was pleased to note that the man…Sam, he corrected himself…had pushed his way up out of the corner and was now perched on the edge of the only chair in the room. His body language still screamed tension and wariness, but this was progress. _

_Making his way over to sit on the edge of the bed nearest Sam, he considered how to proceed. It was clear his patient would have to be handled delicately, but he was up for the challenge, and the fierce desire to heal that had led him to this profession in the first place also created an unexpected sense of protectiveness toward the younger man. He would find out what or who had hurt Sam, he decided. And then he would figure out how to make it better if he could._

_First on the agenda was to find out who this Dean was._

**-Present-**

"He never pushed, you know...just kind of wheedled his way around the topics he wanted to discuss until he got me to say something…anything. I still didn't talk much until almost a month after I woke up or became aware or whatever, but he was always patient, always gentle." Sam smiled, some of those memories good, instead of just painful.

"How did you end up at _that_ hospital? SucroCorp headquarters was in Minneapolis," Dean asked, still trying to piece together the back story.

"This hospital takes indigent patients from the Twin Cities area that other institutions can't or won't accept," Sam replied slowly, lost in his thoughts and missing the grimace that flashed across his big brother's face.

"Indignant patients?" Dean asked in mock disbelief. "What did you have to be indignant about other than the whole Dick Roman blew up my brother bit?"

He was rewarded with a small huff of laughter as amusement lit up Sam's eyes despite the reference to Roman. "Indigent, Dean, not indignant," he corrected, more than halfway sure his brother already knew that and had been trying to lighten the moment. He suddenly remembered many times when Dean had deliberately misheard or misinterpreted a word just to boost his brother's ego or make him smile. Sam wondered if Dean knew how much he appreciated all the ways his brother let him know he was there for him, loved him and would try to make things better, all while avoiding the dreaded chick flick moment.

"I was catatonic, unresponsive, and had no ID on me. Apparently, they found me wandering by the side of the road, covered in Leviathan goo and refusing to talk to anyone. Since no one showed up to claim me and they didn't know if I had insurance, they shipped me here. I don't remember much of anything before I woke up in that hospital room. I was John Doe to the staff for more than a month."

Both brothers grimaced at the name. They might have had many names over the course of their lives, but by unspoken agreement, they had steered away from generic, nobody names until forced into them by the Leviathan. It was bad enough they didn't exist in the eyes of the law and were thought to be dead by nearly everyone else. They had to hold on to their sense of identity and uniqueness somehow.

"What did Doc mean when he asked if you were on any meds?" Dean asked, touching on another topic that had been bothering him. "Just the sleeping pills?"

"And some stuff for depression, the usual for someone in my situation, I guess. Doc never was much into pushing drugs, but…" Sam shook his head and moved on. "Anyway, when I left the hospital, I stopped taking everything."

Silence reigned for a few minutes as both of them considered what had been revealed. Then, standing up and stretching toward the ceiling, Dean observed Sam for another moment before asking, "You think you can go back to sleep now, or should I make some coffee?" A glance at the alarm clock between the beds showed the time as almost 5:30…earlier than he liked, but probably too late to get any decent sleep even if they did try to go back to bed. Sam seemed to feel the same since he requested coffee after his own glance at the alarm clock.

Sam began moving around, getting ready for the day as Dean messed with the coffee pot. After several minutes tinkering, the machine had spit out about 2 inches of liquid energy into the bottom of the provided paper cup before quitting, and no amount of cajoling could get it started again. Biting off a muttered curse, Dean finally gave up in disgust.

"I'm going to head to the lobby to see if the continental breakfast is open, maybe get us some decent coffee," he said, turning to find his brother with an armful of clothing and toiletries, heading for the shower. He got a mumbled response and grinned before donning his own clothes and heading out the door.

Fifteen minutes later, Dean was back juggling 4 large coffee cups balanced in a drink tray in one hand and a plate loaded with donuts and a couple bagels for Sam. There was no way one cup of coffee would be enough for either of them to face the day with on a sleep deficit accrued from a long evening of researching followed by restless sleep and nightmares.

He found his brother at the room's table, hunched over his laptop and surrounded by the papers they have been using the night before. "Find anything new?" he asked, placing the bagels on a napkin and setting two of the cups next to the laptop. He reached into his jacket pocket for a handful of the liquid creamers and sugar packets his brother liked as well as some cream cheese.

Sam looked up and nodded in gratitude as he grabbed a coffee and began doctoring it to his specifications. That finished, he sipped slowly and with the other hand began to slather cream cheese onto a bagel. "It's hard to know where to start. I figure that what we are looking at is some form of translocation, but only a few things we know of can do that…fairies, angels, demons…sometimes ghosts." He grimaced. With the possible exception of ghosts, he wasn't fond of any of the options on that list. Dean knew his own expression revealed the same distaste.

"Any chance the ghosts from the old facility are making an appearance here?" Dean sat at the end of his bed and bit into a donut, closing his eyes and savoring the flavor. "How 'bout the tunnels," he asked, crumbs spraying from his mouth. He grinned when Sam gave him a disgusted look.

"I don't think so," Sam said, taking a prim bite from his own bagel. "I mean it's possible the tunnels extend that far, but there's no way to know for sure since there aren't any maps for them that I can find, and there have been no reports of strange happenings in the new buildings until now." He shifted uncomfortably. "You don't think…angels…demons?"

"Well, no burned eyes or creepy deaths and I don't see what either side would gain by messing around with a bunch of crazy guys." He wanted to pull the words back as soon he said them, but Sam didn't seem to have noticed, so he continued. "Honestly, it almost feels like a practical joke…you know? I mean, most of the things we go for tend to munch on their victims, not teleport them hundreds of miles away."

Sam nodded. "I suppose we could check for sulfur residue while checking the building for EMF and other signs of spirit activity."

"I know…" Dean said with a grin. "Aliens took them. Everybody knows those little green freaks don't put folks back where they found them."

Sam rolled his eyes, but had to smile a bit as he entertained the idea. "You know, the last time we thought we were going up against aliens, you ended up blowing up Tinker Bell and getting thrown into jail for assaulting a midget."

Dean cocked his head in agreement. He had to give Sam that one. "Man, I hope it isn't fairies," he groaned.

"Unlikely," Sam reassured with a small smirk. "The victims weren't all eldest sons."

"That's good news, I suppose." Dean stuffed an entire donut in his mouth and munched thoughtfully.

Taking a big bite of bagel and another sip of coffee, Sam cleared his mouth before continuing. "Until I interview the patients who went missing, we don't have anything to go on."

Dean caught the implication and scowled darkly. "Until **you** interview them? Sam…"

Sam interrupted before Dean could get started. "I've been thinking. We need to go over the patient files to look for connections, as well as do the interviews. It would just be easier if we split up for this part. We can meet up again afterward to sweep the building if we don't find anything."

Dean opened his mouth to object, but then switched tactics. "How come you get the interviews and I get the boring research?" he whined.

Sam's lips twitched, holding back the grin his eyes clearly revealed. "I just figured you wouldn't want to deal with the chick flick moments when those guys go all emotional and blubbery over their abductions."

Dean reared back in horror. He hadn't thought of that. Boring research vs. crying witnesses…research won out every time. Still…. "You going to be okay with…" he trailed off uncertainly.

"I'll be fine, Dean," Sam stated firmly. "I'm enough of a professional to put my own experiences on a back burner until we can get through this." Turning back to the table, he snapped the laptop shut and gathered the papers before tucking everything in his satchel. Stuffing the rest of the bagel in his mouth he got up, obviously ready to go and get this over with. Shrugging, Dean picked up his empty plate and crunched it into a ball before launching it expertly into the trashcan across the room.

"Give me a few minutes to shower, shave, and dress and I'll be ready to go." He could deal with the research this time and it would give him the chance to ask Doctor Johnson a few pointed questions of his own.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: Memories of Madness**

**Disclaimer: Don't own them, just playing. **

**A/N – Happy New Year's everyone! Here's another part of the story to start the new year with. Thanks again to my mom for her beta work on this.**

**-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

**Chapter 4**

"No weapons? Seriously?" Dean stared at his brother incredulously, tempted to smack that amused smile off Sam's lips. "How are we supposed to protect ourselves if this thing shows up unexpectedly? We don't even know what it is, for goodness sake."

Sam shrugged as he got out of the car in the parking lot in front of the hospital. "Get creative, Dean. I don't know. I just know we can't go firing guns near unstable mental patients and it's too much of a risk that a suicidal patient will get their hands on a knife."

"Fine," Dean grumbled, also climbing out of the car. "But I'm still carrying a bag of salt and some holy water and you should too." He went back to the trunk to grab the needed supplies before tossing some to his brother as well. Sam caught his and tucked them away into his pockets; a strange expression on his face that Dean had come to understand meant he was remembering something. He made no comment, however, and together the brothers each took a big breath and headed into the building.

The elderly receptionist sat behind the information desk in a small office near the front door. A window in the wall allowed her to see all visitors entering the building and interact with them while remaining in a secure location. She looked up and blinked at them through glasses that had to be an inch thick.

"May I help you boys?" her voice was high and reedy reminding Dean of one of his third grade teachers. He winced. Ms. Robinson had been very fond of smacking his hands with a ruler every time his attention wandered.

"Yes, ma'am," Sam replied, his honeyed tones guaranteed to capture the hearts of librarians and grandmas everywhere. This old lady was no exception, and she beamed at him as though he were her long lost grandson. "Dr. Johnson said he would leave some ID badges for us? I'm Sam Winchester and this is my partner, Dean Ulrich."

"Of course, dear," the receptionist said, looking around her desk. "I know I put them here somewhere."

Dean tapped his foot in increasing impatience as the old lady checked all the folders on her desk at least three times. He wondered how many of the mental patients were here because they had had to deal with her.

"They were right here…" she was muttering distractedly, when Dean spotted an envelope with their names on it sitting on top of the filing cabinet behind the receptionist.

"Excuse me," he tried, pointing toward the envelope.

"I'm so sorry, boys," the receptionist said, either not hearing Dean or ignoring him. She was starting on her fourth sweep of the cluttered desk. "Some days I think I would lose my head if it weren't attached."

"I think," Sam started, his voice a little louder, but with just as little effect. She didn't even look up from her increasingly frantic search.

Dean grunted in exasperation. Checking the door that led into the receptionist's office, he found it was not one of the locks that required a key card to enter. Instead, it was of the more garden variety. Taking a quick look around and finding the lobby empty, he picked the lock and was in the office in just seconds.

"Young man!" the receptionist said in indignation. "You can't be back here. How did you…?" She gasped when Dean grabbed the envelope from the filing cabinet and handed it to her. "Why here it is!" she said in delight. "I told you I'd find it," she said with satisfaction, forgetting Dean's presence as she beamed at Sam and handed him the envelope.

Dean rolled his eyes and exited the office. Sam was struggling not to laugh as he thanked the receptionist for her help. Handing Dean his ID, he clipped his own to the pocket of his suit coat while reading the note he'd found in the envelope along with the IDs.

"Doc wants us to check in with him before we start the interviews," he informed Dean as they walked down the hall toward the central courtyard.

As the brothers approached the building where they had been the day before, the sound of yelling and fighting rose up from inside, along with a piercing alarm. Dean exchanged a concerned glance with his brother and together they ran the last few steps to find out what was going on. They had no problem gaining access to the enclosed walkway, but a quick check confirmed that the interior door was locked. Dean pulled out his new ID card and swiped it across the reader above the handle. When the light flashed green, he yanked the door open.

Inside the common room, there was chaos. Several patients were yelling, screaming and attacking the nurses and orderlies who sought to restrain them; while others tried their best to stay out of the way of the commotion. Sam waded in, using his height and well-muscled arms and shoulders to make headway. Choosing a patient who was running at an orderly with what looked like a pair of scissors in his hands, Sam deftly tripped him, chopped at the hand holding the scissors to make him drop them, and quickly twisted the arm up behind the man's back…all before he hit the ground.

Checking to make sure his brother was okay, Dean took on his own challenge. Coming up behind a beefy patient who had a petite nurse pinned against the wall, Dean wrapped an arm around the shorter man's neck, putting pressure on the carotid artery just long enough for the patient to go boneless in his arms. Lowering, the unconscious man to the floor, Dean flashed a grin at the stunned nurse before turning to find his brother. Two other patients had been subdued by the orderlies and Sam was facing off with easily the most hysterical man in the group, backed into a corner and looking like he was ready to kill if Sam took one step forward.

"Sam," Dean barked in warning, pulling one of the two weapons he had out of his pocket. As the handful of salt hit the cornered man in the face, he abruptly stopped his screaming in favor of sputtering and rubbing at his eyes. Sam took the opportunity to dart in, swing the man around and get him into a headlock; taking him down in the same manner Dean had his.

Minutes after they had entered the building, it was over, a couple of the patients on the ground moaning as the orderlies fitted straightjackets on them and began to maneuver them back to their rooms. One of the male nurses was sitting on the ground gently prodding at a broken nose. Another man in a security guard's uniform was favoring a bleeding left arm where the man with the scissors had gotten in a lucky strike. The nurse Dean had saved looked shaken up, but was nevertheless gathering supplies to treat her wounded coworkers.

Dean gave Sam a quick once over with his eyes to check for injuries as his brother did the same for him. Then they exchanged nods and as one, headed for Doctor Johnson's office. Dean had heard some of the things the men had been screaming and he had a gut feeling this had been more than a couple of paranoid patients going berserk.

As they entered the doc's office, Carlie rose from her desk, a serious look on her face. "Go on in," she said, gesturing at the closed office door. "He's waiting for you."

"What's going on, Doc?" Dean demanded as the brothers entered the office. "There was a full scale riot going on when we came in."

"What?!" Doctor Johnson exclaimed, rising to his feet and grabbing his white coat. "Where?"

"Don't worry," Sam replied, stopping the doctor's headlong rush. "It's over. Things are being taken care of as we speak. It's more important that we know how this ties in to what we're facing."

"Some of the patients were screaming about aliens coming to steal them away or kill them all," Dean added. "Was that just crazy talk, or…?"

"Another patient was taken late last night after you guys left," the doctor admitted, sitting back down behind his desk. "We got word about an hour ago that he'd been found. I would have called you two, but I figured you'd be in soon enough and there wasn't much you could do to help." The grim look on the doctor's face sent a shiver down Dean's spine.

Brushing a hand tiredly through his thinning hair, the doc looked up at the brothers. "He was found under the St. Louis Arch. Only this time, they didn't find him alive."

Dean watched his brother pale and swallow hard before sitting in one of the chairs before the desk. Dean sat down slowly in the other. "How did he die?" he heard himself asking.

"We won't have official confirmation until an autopsy is performed, but the officer I spoke with said it looked like he'd drowned." The doctor removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, pinching his nose. "Why is this happening?" he sighed. "I thought we'd left all the ghosts behind when we moved everyone over to the new facility."

"We don't know, Dr. Mike," Sam said gently, "If it is a ghost, we think it might be newer than the ones reported to haunt the old tunnels. If it's something else, we'll figure it out. Dean's going to get the patient files from you to find out if there is any commonality between the victims. Meanwhile, I'm going to start interviewing the ones who were taken and made it back."

Dean stared at his brother unhappily, but didn't object. He was not keen on letting Sam out of his sight after the riot they had just helped break up, but there was no help for it. They needed to get this solved and quickly before someone else died.

"Um…okay," the doctor said, shaking his head and visibly pulling himself together. "I'll get Carlie's help pulling the files. I can help you go through them for a little while before I have to go do some rounds and meet with some patients. Before I do, though, I need to check to make sure my staff is okay." He rose and made his way out of the office. They heard him give some directions to his secretary before he exited the suite.

Exchanging glances, the brothers stood up. "Alrighty then," Dean said, straightening his suit coat. "Let's get this burger fried."

Shaking his head and smirking at his brother's choice of words, Sam headed for the door. "I'll check in after I finish with the patients," he said over his shoulder. "Then we can compare notes." Stopping briefly to get the locations of each of the patients he wanted to talk to from Carlie, Sam followed the doctor's path from the room and Dean was left alone with the pretty secretary who was looking at him with wide eyed confusion and more than a little curiosity. Smiling confidently, he approached her desk, deciding there were worse places he could be.

**-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

Opening the door to his final interview for the day, Sam barely kept from groaning out loud. Sitting on the bed in a straightjacket, rocking back and forth was the hysterical man he had taken down earlier in the day. The man showed no signs of noticing his presence and he briefly considered returning to Doctor Johnson's office and letting Dean handle this one. The interviews had been harder on him than he'd thought they'd be, the memories each time he entered the rooms, carbon copies of the one he had spent 3 months in, difficult to handle without Dean there to put on a front for.

_**-Flashback, Anoka State Hospital, Room 107, two years previously-**_

_Dr. Mike Johnson paused as he entered Sam's room. It was still just "Sam" since he had failed to obtain a last name no matter how often he tried._

_Sam was standing in front of the small window, gazing outside with something almost like longing. His posture was typical for these days, shoulders hunched, arms hugged around himself as if to provide warmth, hands rubbing his biceps almost absently. It was a classic closed off defensive posture, and Sam wore it constantly, even when he was alone. Mike wondered what memories he was defending himself against._

"_Good morning, Sam," he said quietly. The young man jumped, whirling around to put his back to the wall, his eyes wide and alarmed. The doctor stayed very still until Sam relaxed a little and stepped away from the wall. He didn't expect a response, nor did he receive one._

_Instead, he followed up on what he had witnessed before announcing his presence. "Would you like to go outside? It's a beautiful day and some of the patients are planting flowers in the central courtyard. We could join them if you like."_

_He thought for a moment that Sam might agree. His eyes strayed back to the windows, but then his eyes seemed to catch on something else and he shook his head. "Not safe," he said, voice barely above a whisper. _

_Walking back to the window, Sam began to trace something that looked like scribbling on the edges of the panes. Dr. Mike walked a little closer to see what he was looking at. Sam tensed at his approach, but made no move to back away, so the doctor continued until he was standing next to him in front of the window._

_All along the edge of the window pane were etchings of different symbols. The looked to have been done in some kind of permanent marker. Putting his hand on the sill to lean closer, he felt something gritty and looked down to see a thin layer of grainy crystals. The line went from one edge of the window to the other. A finger to his tongue tasted…_

"_Salt?" he asked curiously. Sam merely looked at him. Mike looked back at the doorway and remembered the custodian's constant complaints about having to sweep up salt spilled in front of the door in this room. Sure enough, another thin layer of white crystals lay across the threshold._

"_It keeps me safe." Sam's quiet voice made Mike's gaze swing back to his patient's face, but Sam was back to tracing the symbols on the window. "They keep me safe…as long as I stay in here."_

_Studying the markings on the glass, the glimmerings of an idea sparkled in his thoughts. Taking out his pad of paper and pen, he began to carefully draw each of the symbols. Sam watched him, an expression close to curiosity on his normally blank features, but he didn't say anything._

_Mike smiled at his patient as he finished the last symbol. "I have an idea, Sam. Give me a day or two and I might have a way for you to go outside and still feel safe."_

**-Present-**

Stepping into the room, Sam closed the door and said quietly, "George Murphy?" He kept his tone gentle, remembering the rush of fear when the pull of his thoughts and memories had kept him from noticing someone had entered the room.

The man on the bed looked up slightly, but didn't stop his rocking, his lips moving as he repeated something over and over again. Moving closer, Sam could make out some of what he was saying.

"…me away, ha ha. They're coming to take me away, ho ho, he he, ha ha to the funny farm where life is beautiful all the time and I'll be glad to see those men in their clean white coats…"

Sam reared back in surprise and then gave a bark of laughter before he could help himself. George Murphy's gaze snapped to his, a glimmer of humor in the dark eyes as he continued mumbling the song to himself.

"Napoleon XIV," Sam said with a grin, settling on the opposite end of the bed from the chanting man.

"Seemed appropriate," Murphy replied, ceasing the mumbling and rocking, instead looking at his visitor curiously. "I know you." Sam tensed, but there didn't seem to be any animosity in the man's tone.

The impression of sanity fled with his next words, though. "You were with the aliens trying to capture us out in the common room. Have you come to take me away again?" A flash of fear crossed George's lean, haggard features, and he resumed his rocking.

Sam's first instinct was to tell the man there were no such thing as aliens…he should know, he thought wryly. However, he remembered how Dr. Johnson had handled his fears, when he wouldn't even leave his room, the terror of being alone and vulnerable eclipsing all of his training and experience.

_**-Flashback, Anoka State Hospital, Room 107, two years previously-**_

_Dr. Johnson shoved the wrapped bundle under his arm as he approached the door to Sam's room. Jenise, a personal friend of his among the nurses, had pulled through in record time, and he had high hopes for this plan to work, to maybe pull Sam out of his shell just a little bit._

_Opening the door, he was unsurprised to find Sam in front of the window again, gazing at something which had captured his attention outside._

_Calling out to the young man from the doorway, he underwent the usual startled appraisal and then tentative acceptance. When Sam had once again relaxed, at least as much as he ever relaxed, Mike continued into the room and offered the package._

_When Sam made no move to take it, but stared at it warily, Dr. Johnson refused to be disappointed. Instead, he placed the package on the bed and backed away a bit._

"_Go ahead," he urged. "Open it. I think you'll like what's inside."_

_Giving the doctor another long assessing look, Sam walked warily to the bed and gingerly opened the package as though he expected a snake or something to jump out at him. The wariness changed to confusion as he pulled out the dark brown jacket._

"_Look on the inside," the doctor suggested. Sam did as he was asked and his eyes widened as they flashed from the jacket to the window and back. His finger traced the symbols embroidered into the inside of the jacket, each one in intricate detail. "Check the inside breast pockets on both sides," Mike urged. _

_Unzipping the small pockets Jenise had painstakingly sewn there, Sam reached inside and pulled out a pinch of the salt Mike had put in both pockets. His eyes rose to meet the doctor's and he was surprised to see them shining with moisture. Even during his worst nightmares and screaming flashbacks, Dr. Mike had never seen Sam cry. It was as though he considered crying to be a weakness that would be exploited given the least opportunity. _

_Even now, Sam sniffed and dragged himself forcefully under control. Mike gave him a moment before asking quietly, "Think you can go outside now? I'll stay with you every minute…watch your back." Sam's eyes snapped back to his, and the doctor held his breath, waiting for the verdict._

"_Holy water?" Sam whispered._

_Dr. Mike was confused, but he ran with it. "You need some holy water?" he asked, trying to understand. Sam nodded mutely._

"_We have a small chapel in the building next door. The chaplain is a retired priest who volunteers here every week. I'll bet he could get you some holy water. You want to go ask and see?" Sam nodded again, and Mike gave an inward cheer as he opened the door and gestured for Sam to go through._

_Sam hesitated at first. It would be the first time he had been out of the room to go further than the bathrooms, and even those visits had been strictly supervised at first until the staff had determined that he was unlikely to hurt himself or someone else. Taking a deep breath, he stepped over the salt line on the threshold, trusting the doctor to watch his back._

**-Present-**

"No, I'm not with the aliens," Sam said finally, his thoughts coming back to the matter at hand. "I'm trying to find and destroy the aliens before they can take anyone else and so I really need you to tell me what you remember from…"

He trailed off as George shook his head and started rocking more vigorously, the headboard on the bed thumping against the wall in time with his rocking body. "They can hear us talking. If I say anything to you, they'll take me again and torture and kill me this time, just like they killed Saul." Tears leaked from his eyes as he said the name of the last man to be abducted.

"Saul was your friend?" Sam asked gently and George nodded. An idea popped into Sam's head and suddenly he was really glad Dean was not here. He would mock him all the way into next week if he ever heard about this, but if it worked…

"George," Sam started hesitantly, "if I came up with a proven way to keep aliens from hearing our thoughts or words, would you talk to me?" Murphy watched him for a moment, his rocking stilled at least for the time being. Finally, he gave a small nod.

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: Memories of Madness**

**Disclaimer: Don't own them, just playing. **

**-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

**Chapter 5**

Dean stared at the words swimming on the pages in front of him before groaning and closing the folder with a snap. "This is a dead end," he snarled, frustrated with his lack of progress.

Dr. Johnson looked over his shoulder at Dean from where he was standing in front of the window which had been transformed into an idea board, with pictures, clippings and even scraps of notepaper with scribbled ideas on them taped to it. After rescheduling his appointments and calling in another doctor to handle what he could not reschedule, Dr. Mike had put all of his energy and not insignificant intelligence to the task of finding a connection between the victims.

"Maybe we're coming at this from the wrong direction," Dean mused, staring thoughtfully at the wall map. Mike stayed quiet. In this area, Dean was the professional, and he found he was learning a lot about the world of crime fighting or supernatural fighting as the case might be from watching the younger man work. Sam and Dean would have made amazing law enforcement personnel in another life, he thought sadly.

"What are you thinking?" he asked quietly in an effort not to distract Dean from his train of thought.

Dean's thoughts however, had strayed once again from the task at hand as he tried and failed to keep his mind off of his little brother.

"How bad was it?" He asked the doctor, his eyes still pinned to the idea board but not really seeing it. "Sam won't say much, but I get the impression it was bad." He turned to lock his gaze on the doctor.

Dr. Mike squirmed a bit, understanding immediately what Dean was asking. "I'm not supposed to say anything," he started hesitantly, "doctor-patient confidentiality."

Dean spat a curse, his face suddenly angry. "Forget that. I can steal his file if I have to, to see for myself, but I'd rather get your professional take on it."

Mike didn't respond to the anger. Instead he gazed calmly back at Dean until the anger left and the young man's features returned to upset, worried big brother. "I need to know what I'm up against before I can get him to talk to me, Doc," he said, tension zinging in his words.

Mike relented, looking away from those intense eyes to try to decide what he could, in good conscience, reveal. "It was bad, at first. When he started talking again, he was afraid all the time. Terrified afraid, if you know what I mean." He glanced at Dean and received a nod to go on. "We made it past that, and for a while it looked like he was getting better, but then the fear began to turn into anger. The anger turned into bitterness and finally bitterness turned into despair. I fooled myself into thinking I was doing him some good by getting him to talk about it, let it all out, but honestly…," he trailed off into silence, remembering the last time he had seen Sam Winchester. "When your brother walked out of my life, I did not expect him to live to see another month, let alone another year. It was like he didn't care if he lived or died."

Dean's face was pale as he listened, his lips pulled tight as he struggled to keep a reign on his feelings. He tried to reconcile the picture of Sam that the doctor had built with the little brother he had met upon his return from Purgatory. That Sam had acted as though his life had been perfect without his brother. Dean had almost felt as though he had messed things up by not being dead. He must still be missing something.

He turned to study the idea board in silence for a minute, more to avoid the doc's gaze than anything else, when something clicked in his brain. "I am such an idiot!" he exclaimed, startling the doctor.

Rising to his feet, he approached the idea board and began to rip it all down. "What are you…" the doctor started to object, but Dean whirled to face him, and the intensity in his expression quieted him.

"We've been looking at this all wrong, trying to find a connection between the living victims when there isn't one. Instead, we should be looking at the dead."

"Okay?" the doctor said hesitantly, not getting where he was going with this.

"Doc, do you have access to the records of everyone who has died in this building since it was built?"

**-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

Hurrying along the hallways, Dean thought about what he and the doctor had discovered. If he was right, he knew who was doing the abductions. He just didn't know where the ghost was hiding and why it was transporting its victims clear across the country.

Coming up on the room where he knew Sam was doing his last interview, he stopped dead when the door opened, and his little brother stepped out. Jaw dropping, he eyes traveled up Sam's head to the contraption perched on top.

Turning, Sam saw his brother looking at him, or more precisely looking at the aluminum foil cap he had fashioned for himself and George in order to get the man to open up to him. Closing his eyes, he groaned.

"Dude," Dean said in a strangled tone, "is that a…"

"Not another word, Dean," Sam snapped, snatching the aluminum foil cap off his head and crunching it into a ball. Dean gave a shout of laughter, earning a disapproving glare from a passing nurse that only made him laugh harder.

"You getting ready for a close encounter?" Dean chortled, ignoring his brother's sour expression.

"No," Sam said patiently. "I borrowed some of your money to purchase the Pocket Alien Foil protection kit from that internet ad I showed you the other day." Dean gawked at him, mouth working.

"What?" Sam said, mouth twitching as he fought a smile. "It was only $250 to get protection NASA uses. I figured better safe than sorry, right? Never know what we might run into in our line of work."

Dean opened his mouth to say something, then closed it as he tried to decide if his little brother was serious. "Really?" he asked hesitantly. Maybe Sam was still a little crazy and Dean just hadn't noticed.

"No, Dean," Sam said, grabbing his brother's arm and towing him across the hall and into an empty room. "I ran down to the kitchens to borrow some aluminum foil so that an alien paranoid schizophrenic would talk to me, ok?"

Dean shrugged in amusement but let it go as what he had discovered jumped to the forefront of his mind.

"I know who the ghost is," he said just as Sam blurted out, "And now I know where the ghost is."

The two looked at each other for a moment, then said in unison, "You do?"

Closing his eyes, Dean motioned for Sam to go first.

"Taken individually, the interviews were a bust," Sam said, pulling out his notebook. "I couldn't find any connection between the men and usually couldn't make heads or tails of their stories. One guy claims he was washing clothes when he was zapped onto a TV show to teach girls how to cook. He was the guy that was transported onto the stage with the dancing girls, by the way." Dean snorted in amusement.

"George, across the hall here, thought he was abducted by aliens who deposited him at the Alamo because he didn't answer enough questions about American history correctly. He responded by learning the lyrics to as many popular songs as he could find from the 1960s."

"Some good music," Dean mused. "Of course, not as good as the 70s, but still…"

Ignoring his brother, Sam continued, "Anyway, of the four, George was the most lucid." Dean snorted.

"He said he was in the bathroom down the hall taking a dump, his words, when the ghost took him."

"Awkward," Dean muttered. He gave his brother a cocky grin when Sam glared at him. "Continue."

"I realized that what all the stories had in common was water, or more specifically a sensation of being sucked underwater and swirled around. Taken with George's story…" He trailed off as he waited for his brother to make the connection.

"Oh, now that's just gross." Dean checked his brother to see if he was serious. "A toilet? Our ghost is haunting a toilet? Seriously?"

"It makes sense. I remember from my time here that most of the patients avoided the bathroom at the end of this hall because it always stunk. Management called in plumbers on more than one occasion to find the source of the smell and fix it, but they were never able to. One of the toilets was always backing up and fouling the place."

"So you're thinking our ghost has been there for a while. That matches up with my research," Dean said, and Sam motioned for him to continue.

Opening the folder he had brought along to show Sam, he turned it around so his brother could look at it. "Meet Martin Foster, an inmate…er, patient," he corrected at Sam's glare, "who died in 2000, the year the new facility was completed and all the patients moved over from the old place. Two orderlies were arrested and subsequently found guilty for neglect and abuse leading to death. Marty was found dead in his bed. He was naked, his hair was soaking wet and he had been knocked around pretty badly. However, cause of death was…" He mimed a drumroll.

"Drowning," Sam finished for him, quickly locating the information.

"Yahtzee," Dean confirmed. "The orderlies claimed they were trying to clean him up after he threw a fit at supper time and got food all over himself. They say he accidentally drowned while they were giving him a bath."

"That doesn't make sense. If I remember correctly, that bathroom doesn't have any bathtubs…just showers," Sam said in a thoughtful tone before his eyes widened in horror. He looked at his brother.

Dean met his gaze for a moment before wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Oh, dude. Don't tell me he drowned from a swirly."

"I'm guessing that's exactly what happened," Sam said, flipping through the rest of the papers in the folder, his quick mind absorbing the details. "Okay, so we know who it is and where it is, but we still don't know why he's transporting them to various locations across the map or even how. It takes a lot of energy to do something like that."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Throwing a table across the room is one thing, but transporting an entire person across the map…That's some serious mojo for a ghost this new." His face took on a mischievous grin and his eyes sparkled in amusement. "So…" he drawled, "What do you say we pay old Moaning Marty a visit?"

Sam groaned at the reference, but Dean felt a rush of pleasure as his brother couldn't help but give him one those genuine smiles that had become far too rare lately. That right there was why he loved this job.

**-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

"Here ghostie, ghostie," the words echoed in the large communal bathroom.

Sam and Dean had informed Dr. Johnson of where the ghost was and what they planned to do. Working with the nurses and orderlies, he was able to move the patients from the rooms closest to the bathroom and informed all personnel that the room was closed until further notice. The staff was thoroughly confused, but hopefully it would insure there were no interruptions.

They had waited until supper time to go in; further minimizing the chances that anyone would drop in unannounced. The last thing they needed was to get caught in the building with a couple of sawed off shotguns filled with rock salt.

"Hey, Marty, you in here?" Dean called again. Shooting a grin at his brother, he said in a stage whisper, "Hey, Sam. 10 points if you can get the rock salt through Moaning Marty's nose."

Sam snorted a laugh, and walked to the three stalls along the far wall. He was carrying one of their EMF detectors, but so far, he had yet to get a peep out of it. Waving the detector through every stall, he got minor activity in the final one, but nothing near conclusive to show the presence of a ghost.

Meanwhile, Dean had finished sweeping the rest of the bathroom, focusing his attention on the showers. "I got bupkis," he admitted sourly, as he met his brother near the sinks.

"Me, too," Sam stated. "Maybe our research is wrong."

"Nah," Dean insisted. "Everything matches perfectly."

"There's still some missing information, though, Dean," Sam persisted. "Maybe we need to find out what sets this ghost off before we can get it to show itself."

"Yeah, well in the meantime, I gotta take a leak," Dean said, walking toward one of the stalls. "What kind of men's bathroom doesn't have a urinal," he complained, shutting the door behind him.

"Really, Dean?" Sam protested mildly. "Peeing in a haunted bathroom…that's like, I don't know, spitting on a grave or something."

"You try spending hours looking at dry and dusty information with nothing but coffee to keep you going," Dean's voice came from behind the closed door. "I've had to pee since…"

Dean's yelp was accompanied by the sudden squeal of the EMF meter in Sam's hands and a brilliant flash of light.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, running for the stall and kicking it open. He prayed he would see his big brother frowning at him in embarrassment and disapproval, but the stall was empty, nothing but an overflowing toilet, spilling water out onto the floor.

It was too much. The place…the circumstances…the recent memories that had been tormenting him.

The panic was familiar and devastating as it swamped all reason and drowned him in terror.

"Deeeeeaan!"

**TBC**

**A/N – Shorter than usual, I know, but I couldn't resist leaving you with an evil cliffie. grin Remember, reviews are like food to a starving author. I might even been convinced to put you out of your misery earlier. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Title: Memories of Madness**

**Disclaimer: Don't own them, just playing. **

**A/N: I apologize for the delay. I meant to have this out yesterday, but got home too late and was just too tired to handle it. I did tinker with it after my beta got done with it, so all remaining mistakes are mine. Anyway, without further ado…enjoy**

**-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

**Chapter 6**

For Dean, the sensation was not unlike getting caught in a whirlpool after eating bad diner food. He was aware of water, freezing cold water all around him. His lungs were burning, but he knew if he took a breath, he would drown, just like Moaning Marty's last victim. So he hung on for minutes…hours…days…years. He wasn't sure how long it was before he felt himself regurgitated with a wet sucking sound out onto pavement.

His first reaction was to take a deep breath. His second was to throw up everything he had eaten since he had gotten back from Purgatory last year. He started with the donuts from that morning and continued on to the first burger he'd enjoyed after parting ways with Benny. Next, he threw up a large disgusting chunk that he knew was his heart. He was convinced that his lungs would be next, unless they had come before his heart. He couldn't seem to catch his breath.

When the heaves subsided, he barely managed to fall sideways so as not to land in the disgusting pool beside him. He drew in deep gasps of air, reveling in the feeling of being alive, until other sights, sounds and sensations began to penetrate his woozy brain.

At first, he thought he was in a dark cave with lights floating around his head, until he realized he was actually outside, near a street if the sound of honking cars were anything to go by, surrounded by tall buildings. The second thing to register was that he was ice cold. As if in reaction to this realization, his body gave a shudder and he curled in on himself to preserve heat. That was when he realized his clothes were gone. He was completely naked.

A woman shrieked nearby and he raised his head far enough to register a group of people about 10 feet away, looking on with disgust and muttering amongst themselves. Vaguely, he wondered what they were looking at and why Sam hadn't brought extra blankets. He hated to be cold at night. That was part of the reason he hated camping. With that thought, all remaining reason fled and darkness overtook him.

**-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

Sam slammed the papers in his hand down on the table violently enough to rip some of them. "There's nothing here. Where would it send him?! Where?" Jumping up, he began pacing around and around the office like a caged lion. Pulling out his phone, he tried for the hundredth time to contact either of the two cell phones Dean kept on him at all times. He kept getting the message that both phones were either turned off or not in a service area.

Dr. Mike watched him with outright worry. It horrified him that Dean had been caught in the ghost's trap and sent who knew where, but Sam was self-destructing in front of his eyes and if he wasn't stopped soon, he was going to hurt himself. Standing up, he took a quick breath to steel his resolve and stepped into Sam's path.

"Sam, you have got to calm down." For a moment, Mike wasn't sure if Sam was going to walk right over him or slug him in the face. The fact that Sam didn't seem sure which he wanted to do either, gave the little doctor courage to go on. "You aren't going to do Dean any good by panicking. Now get it together and use that smart brain of yours to help me look for him."

The words had an effect, but not the one he'd hoped for. Sam's face crumpled, and the rest of his body would have followed if the psychiatrist hadn't quickly guided him down to the floor in front of the fireplace. It might be fake fire, but it gave off real heat, and Sam was showing definite signs of going into shock.

"I didn't look for him," he said tonelessly, his eyes slightly glassy. For the first time, Mike cursed the fact that he didn't have a couch where he could lay the young man. Instead, he pulled a chair around and lifted Sam's long legs up onto it. The fact that Sam didn't object, worried him even more. He poked his head out into the reception area and shouted for Carlie to get a blanket. He needed something to calm Sam down, but he didn't want to leave him long enough to get it.

"I didn't look for him," Sam repeated, his voice tight with grief. "I thought he was dead, but he wasn't really. He was in Purgatory and then he had to trust a vampire to get out of that hell hole and…I am so, so sorry I didn't look for him," Sam gasped on a sob. "Why couldn't I tell him I'm sorry?"

"He knows, Sam," Dr. Johnson soothed. He didn't have a clue what Sam was talking about, but he knew what his friend needed to hear. "He knows you're sorry, but now you need to pull yourself together."

Sam looked at him, and the blind grief in his eyes cleared a bit. Mike's words seemed to be getting through, so he forged ahead with that line of thinking. "He needs you to look for him now. That's what's important. And you can't do that if you are falling to pieces. Leave the past in the past and look for him now."

"Past in the past. Look for him now," Sam repeated, reason beginning to return and his surroundings starting to make more sense. Pulling his legs off the chair, he struggled to stand up, but Dr. Mike laid a hand on his shoulder to keep him seated.

"Stay there for now until I can make sure you're not going to go into shock on me," he said quietly, getting up to answer the quiet knock on the door. Taking the blanket from Carlie, he thanked her and closed the door on her curious eyes. Crossing back to Sam, he wrapped the blanket around the young man's shoulders.

"I have to find him, Doc, but I haven't a clue where to start." Sam looked at his friend, desperate eyes pleading for help. "The ghost killed the last guy. If Dean is…"

"Don't you start down that road, Sam Winchester," the doctor barked at him, seeing the younger man jump at his tone but pull back from the mental cliff he had been skirting. "Start with what we don't know about the ghost. If we can figure out why he is sending his victims halfway across the country and how, maybe we can figure out where."

Sam nodded, his eyes flitting from side to side as he sorted rapidly in his mind through all of the information they had gathered. "Umm…" he said uncertainly, "this is where we would return to the scene of the crime to see what we missed or maybe check out the home and personal belongings of the vic, but…"

"What about the personal belongings of the ghost?" Dr. Mike asked, the beginnings of an idea stirring.

Sam looked up at his tone, the lines between his eyebrows deepening. "The guy died 13 years ago," he stated. "How would you…"

"He didn't have any family," Mike explained. "That means that his personal belongings should still be stored here somewhere at the facility. We just need to find out where."

The stirrings of hope began to show in Sam's eyes. "Understand the ghost and maybe understand where he might have sent Dean and why," he said. Once again, he tried to push himself to his feet, but once again the doctor stopped him.

"You stay here for a bit. I'm going to make some calls and see if I can find that stuff."

**-30 minutes later-**

A knock on the door made Dr. Johnson look up from the paperwork he was filling out for a patient. Glancing over at Sam's form, asleep on the carpet near the faux fire, he rose quietly to get the door. The young man was exhausted both physically and emotionally and he wanted him to be able to sleep as long as possible.

Accepting the box from the runner on the other side, he thanked him and turned back to his office. He sighed when he saw Sam push to his feet and come over to see what he had. He should have known there was no way to keep his friend out of this, even temporarily.

"Is that it?" Sam asked skeptically, eyeing the small box.

Opening the container to look at the scant contents inside, Mike sighed sadly. "He didn't have much, that's for sure," he said, dumping the items out on the small coffee table in the sitting room. "But then again, you had less," he reminded Sam gently.

Sam's face was sober. He fingered the sleeve of his jacket, his eyes dark with memories. He didn't respond, but simply looked down and started poking through the summation of a life. It occurred to him that without Dean, he did have even less. Had he died here in this institution, there wouldn't have been a soul on Earth to even notice he was gone, much less mourn. Swallowing, he forced himself back to the task at hand. Such thoughts only led to unproductive pity parties.

Most of the items were junk – a deck of cards, an old dog whistle, the remains of a long dead potted plant, several pretty rocks. A picture of the St. Louis arches caught his attention and he brushed the other items aside to reveal several tattered post cards, obviously well-loved and often read. Sam suspected he was looking at the most precious possession Marty Foster had had. Flipping the card over, he read the cheerful message on the back, signed "_Wishing you were here, Melissa."_

"Who is Melissa?" He asked absently, moving on to the next card, a picture of the Riviera in Las Vegas at night. An idea started poking and prodding to be heard.

"She was his sister. Last of his family from what I understand," Dr. Mike said, flipping through the file folder for Martin Foster once more. He sucked in a quick gasp at what he read next and hoped Sam was too pre-occupied to have noticed.

No such luck, however. Sam looked up and his eyes narrowed. "What happened to her?" he asked. "I thought you said he didn't have any family."

Mike really didn't want to reveal that information, but Sam pressed. "Dr. Mike, if it's something that might help Dean, I need to know it.

The little doctor shook his head, but gave in. "Melissa Foster died in a car accident along with her husband and two small children about a week before Martin was admitted here. Apparently, her death was the reason he was sent here."

Sam jerked at the similarity to his own story, but his face remained impassive, taking the information in stride. He was about past his ability to be shocked by anything at this point.

"I'm guessing that's what also made him a target for abuse," the doctor continued sadly. "No family to notice or complain if he wasn't getting treated properly. What happened to him would be enough to drive even a mentally stable man over the edge."

"Or…drive him to protect others," Sam said thoughtfully, flipping through the postcards in his hand, noting that all were signed in the same way. The idea was growing in the back of his head. "What if Marty isn't trying to hurt anyone?" he continued. "If he were lashing out in anger at his treatment, you'd think the ones he'd choose to take would be nurses, orderlies or even doctors…people in authority. Instead he's taking other patients. What if he thinks they are in danger of being hurt like he was and is trying to save them by sending them to places he associates with his sister, the strongest connection to safety and happiness that he had?"

"But why would he think they were in danger of being hurt?" the doctor questioned.

Sam was quiet for a moment, thinking, before he suddenly said, "The riot." He looked up to meet the doctor's gaze. "Doc, were there any incidents of violence right before the other men disappeared?"

Dr. Johnson pursed his lips in thought and got up to type something into his computer. He clicked rapidly through several folders before muttering a "Ha" of satisfaction. "These are incident reports for the months since people started to disappear" He checked the dates in the file names then opened one document and frowned. "Oh dear, I remember this."

"What?" Sam asked moving over to stand near the doctor's chair so he could see, too.

"The day before the first disappearance," Mike explained, "one of the orderlies got a little too rough with a patient who was being uncooperative…broke his arm. The orderly was fired the next day. That was also when the first disappearance happened. But the one taken was not the same as the patient who was hurt. That guy wasn't even here at the time. He was in the medical wing. Shouldn't the ghost be taking the ones who were threatened?"

"Not necessarily. Maybe he is simply targeting patients who were near or in some way involved with the incident. But…Dean isn't even a patient here, and if anything, his role in the fight was that of aggressor," Sam's face paled at the thought.

"But you were there too and you have a history with this place. Why not take you instead?" Mike asked in confusion.

"The toilet," Sam muttered in realization. "Dean was using the toilet when he was taken. George also said he was using the toilet at the time. I'd be willing to bet the other victims were too. Dean and I had already figured out that that was his connection to this place. It makes sense that that would be how he's choosing his targets, as well." He popped up from beside the doctor in order to pace up and down the room in agitation.

Mike watched him move and seriously hoped he wouldn't have to stop him again. Sam's movements were more hopeful this time, though, and a little less desperate.

"It's been theorized that ghosts can draw energy from their own emotions and the emotions of the people around them," Sam continued, finally moving to his chair across from the doctor and sitting on the edge. "Places like this are a hothouse of emotion. Add to that the trigger of an orderly hurting a patient and that just might have been enough to set our ghost off. I'm also willing to bet that if you look through that folder, you will find a major event or surge of emotion happening right before each abduction."

"There was a fight in the common room yesterday before Saul Gonzalez was taken," Mike mused. "Two patients wanted the same book and the nurses weren't monitoring the room as closely as they should have."

"And the next person to use the haunted toilet goes poof," Sam finished.

"That doesn't explain why the ghost killed Saul," the doctor objected.

"Unless he didn't mean to," Sam theorized, his words getting faster as he got more excited. "Maybe the ghost doesn't realize how hard the trip is going to be on the ones he's transporting. Saul's file said that he was just getting over pneumonia, right?" The doctor nodded. "Most of the patients reported feeling like they were sucked underwater. Well, maybe he couldn't hold his breath as long as the others and thus wasn't able to survive the trip. This means Dean's most likely still alive," he said, his voice rising in excitement. "He can hold his breath forever."

Picking up the stack of post cards, the doctor held them up with a smile. "And I think we might be able to make a pretty good guess where he went."

**TBC**

**A/N: I was a little nervous about this and the next chapter. I hope the emotional reactions came across as legitimate instead of sappy and ridiculous. Please let me know how it worked. I'd love to hear from you.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Title: Memories of Madness**

**Disclaimer: Don't own them, just playing. **

**A/N: Another sap alert. Poor Dean! He just can't avoid those silly chick flick moments.**

**-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

**Chapter 7**

It was 3:00 in the morning before Sam pulled the Impala into a parking space in front of the Chicago Police Department, 1st District Station. It had been nearly 8:30 the previous evening before he and Dr. Johnson had managed to locate Dean. By matching post cards to victims taken by the ghost, they had determined 3 possible locations where Dean might have been teleported – the Washington Monument, Disneyworld, or the Sears Tower in Chicago.

Once they had that pinned down, it was a matter of calling all police stations and hospitals around each of those locations. Based on the conditions of the other men who had been taken, they figured Dean would have been in no shape to take care of himself. The patients who had been returned had been disoriented and weak for a couple of days after their ordeal. Even if he had emerged on the other side unscathed, he would have found the nearest phone to call Sam, even if it meant breaking and entering. Since Sam's phone had remained depressingly silent, they had continued to work the other options until they struck pay dirt.

A John Doe matching Dean's description had been arrested in front of the Sears Tower for drunk and disorderly conduct as well as indecent exposure. Because the evening had been busy, he had simply been tossed in a holding cell until someone was available to book him. Sam breathed a sigh of relief at that news as Dean's fingerprints would have raised some rather interesting red flags.

Dr. Johnson had taken over at this point. He explained to the officers that Dean was a patient at Anoka-Metro Regional Treatment Center and had escaped a couple of days ago while out on a field trip with other patients. They were very concerned for his safety and would appreciate it if he was kept in custody until an orderly could be sent to retrieve him and bring him back to the Center.

They were fortunate the officer in charge had a sense of humor and considered the whole incident funny rather than serious. He agreed that there was no need to officially charge him and promised to keep Dean safe until Sam could get there to pick him up. Having been through this process a couple times before, Dr. Johnson was able to prepare the paperwork Sam would need to get Dean out of there with a minimum of suspicion.

As he exited the car, Sam checked to make sure he had the manila folder with the papers as well as a bag containing clothes and shoes for Dean. Clipped to the pocket of his uniform was the new ID Doc had made for him, identifying him as an orderly in the employ of Anoka State Hospital. Walking inside, he discovered the place to be quite busy considering it was the middle of the night. He waited for several minutes before managing to catch the attention of an officer, an African-American man who was quite possibly as wide as he was tall.

The cop glanced over the paperwork briefly before checking something on a computer. Apparently verifying that Sam was expected and that the prisoner was to be released into his custody, the officer, whose nametag read Joshua Brown, led him back toward the individual holding cells. He didn't appear to be in the mood to talk, and Sam was just as glad, because he didn't know how up to playing a role he was after all the events of the evening. Unlocking one of the rooms, Officer Brown gave a brief nod to Sam and took off back towards the bullpen without another word.

Taking a quick breath, Sam entered the cell, and immediately spotted his brother, sleeping on the bunk. The fact that Dean hadn't awakened when the door was opened, alarmed Sam and he crossed the small room quickly, reaching for his brother's throat to check his pulse.

Only lightning-quick reflexes saved him as Dean grabbed his arm and attempted to use his forward momentum to slam his head into the wall. Sam twisted as he was pulled forward, managing to free his arm and avoiding a face to face encounter with the cinderblocks.

"Dean, it's me!" he called out. As soon as he lost his grip on the intruder, Dean had rolled off the bed and had his back to the corner before the reassuring words left Sam's lips. Upon hearing his brother's voice, however, he relaxed immediately.

"Sam?" he said, he eyes still glazed with sleep and slightly confused. He paled suddenly and swayed, reaching out to the wall to stay upright.

"Yeah, Bro. You okay?" Sam moved forward once more to check on his brother, and this time, Dean didn't move. The elder Winchester was dressed in what looked like tan or light brown scrubs. The letters D.O.C. were silkscreened onto the V-neck shirt. He had on no undershirt and no shoes.

"Peachy," Dean replied grumpily as he rubbed his eyes with his fists.

Visual inspection complete, Sam was relieved that his brother didn't seem too much the worse for wear. He grinned. "I can come back later if you want to finish your nap."

Dean dropped his hands to glare at him. "No way. I want out of here. What took you so long? I kept waiting for them to come fingerprint me and wonder why a dead man is sitting in their jail cells."

"Had to locate you first," Sam said simply, though his insides twisted at the words. He handed Dean the bag of clothes. "Once Doc told them you were an escaped psych patient from the hospital, they had no interest in spending time or manpower to book you." He smiled as Dean gave a grimace of distaste over their chosen cover story. "Do you even know where you are?"

"No clue," Dean replied simply. He seemed a bit steadier as he pulled the clothes out and put them on the bunk, though he still swayed slightly when he moved too fast. He frowned at the white pants and T-shirt emblazoned with the Anoka hospital logo before sighing and giving into the necessity. They were better than the jail clothes he had on now. Turning, he stared pointedly at Sam. "Dude…a little privacy?"

Sam laughed, "Dean, you were running around naked in a crowd of people and now you're worried about privacy?"

"Oh, shut up," Dean growled. "This ghost needs to pay, Sam. No one takes my clothes and hangs me out to dry like that without some serious payback."

Sam turned his back on his brother, still chuckling. "Took us a while, but Dr. Mike and I finally figured out you were in Chicago. Cops picked you up in front of the Sears Tower. Apparently you gave a group getting ready to start the tour quite a shock."

The rustling sounds behind him paused as Dean took in that information. "Don't remember much about that…was too busy puking up every meal I ever ate."

"I figured," Sam said, and paused to process the relief at getting his brother back safe and sound. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, Sam," Dean's voice came, a bit softer. "I'm fine. Just a bit shaky. Nothing a good meal and some rest won't cure." Shrugging into the jacket, he came up beside his taller brother and clapped him on the shoulder. "C'mon. Let's blow this pop stand and find us some deep dish pizza."

An hour later, fed and back in his own clothes, Dean was seated in the passenger seat pretending to doze as Sam drove them back toward the hospital. Dean had tried to take over the driving, but Sam had flat out refused, pointing out that Dean's eyes still crossed every few minutes and that he had come close to falling on his backside several times while they were leaving the police station. Dean was too tired to put up much of a fight and had given in with only a few surly curses about over-protective mother-henning little brothers.

The interior of the car was silent, aside from the hum of tires on asphalt; Baby carrying them safely through a night which had yet to show the barest hint of dawn. However, the lullaby he had grown up with failed to have the relaxing effect on him it usually did.

The reason lay less in his experiences over the last few hours and more in the one sitting behind the steering wheel next to him. The humor and relief his brother had exhibited in the jail cell earlier had given way to tension and increasing silence and Dean wanted to sigh at the chick flick moment he felt growing between them. All he wanted to do was finish off the ghost and head back to the Bat Cave so he could catch up on some Z's, but he realized that there were some unresolved issues that needed to be dealt with before Sam would be able to leave this place and the past behind them once and for all.

"I'm glad you were able to find me," he stated quietly, rolling his head on the seat back to watch his brother. He was pleased that the movement didn't make him feel like his head was about to roll off.

Sam's jaw tightened. "This time, you mean. I'm real good at finding you when it doesn't matter."

Dean blinked at the implications in that statement and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He'd had too little sleep to navigate this minefield, but at least Sam was talking to him.

"It mattered to me," he said with a shrug. "Could have gotten real sticky there without you and Doc backing me up."

"You wouldn't even have been there if not for me and Doc," Sam exploded.

_Here it comes, _Dean thought wryly.

"I never should have accepted this job in the first place. The past should stay in the past where it belongs," Sam's tone was full of self-recrimination.

"We don't turn our backs on things like this, Sam," Dean chided, aware he was approaching dangerous ground. "You know that."

"I can and will turn my back on anything I need to for you, Dean," Sam retorted, snapping his mouth closed as if surprised he had let that out.

"And that year I was in Purgatory, when you turned your back on hunting, was that for me too?" Dean said sarcastically, again feeling the confusion and disbelief over why his brother would do such a thing, though the feelings of anger and betrayal had faded with time.

Despite what his brother thought, Dean had forgiven him for not looking for him after the whole Dick Roman fiasco. He even thought he was starting to understand it a bit better after learning about Sam's time in the mental institution. But it still didn't explain why Sam hadn't returned to hunting or started looking for him after getting out of that place. Sam had left him on numerous occasions, but never when he knew Dean was in trouble and needed him. It simply wasn't in his brother's character to have done so this time. He was definitely missing something.

The squeal of rubber on asphalt and the jerk of the car coming to an abrupt halt made Dean curse and throw out a hand to catch himself before he hit the dashboard. Pulling onto the shoulder, Sam turned the key in the ignition and dashed out of the car. Dean watched in shock as his brother ran to the side of the road, fell to his knees and began to heave.

Opening his own door, he approached his little brother slowly, much as he might a wounded animal, finally coming to crouch next to him as he finished up.

"Been there, done that in the last 12 hours," he commented sympathetically. He wanted to touch Sam's shoulder or neck, just to reassure him he was there, but he wasn't sure how his brother would react at the moment, so he kept his hands to himself.

Sam stood up shakily and walked back toward the car, wiping the back of his hand across his mount. The headlights gave his skin a sickly yellowish hue. Placing both hands on the hood of the car, he bowed his head and concentrated on breathing.

Dean went to the trunk and pulled out a bottle of water, before returning to his brother and silently handing it over.

Sam took it with a quiet "Thanks," and turned around so he was half sitting, half leaning against the car. Dean stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and simply waited, taking in the pre-dawn stillness around them. They were on a country road with fields on either side barely visible in the darkness. The early autumn air was chilly, especially at this hour of the morning, and he shivered, his breath fogging out in front of him.

"Yes, it _was_ for you, Dean," Sam said quietly, taking a sip of water and continuing the conversation from where they had left off. He bit his lip, looking for a way to explain, and Dean remained still, content to wait him out. Garth was right. Most of their problems last year had come from too much talking and too little listening. He was determined not to make that same mistake now.

"You remember when I was planning to say yes to Lucifer to get him back in the Cage?" Dean tensed, but didn't reply. There was no way he could forget that time in his life. "I knew I was going die, and I wanted nothing more than for you to find a home and a family, to have a chance at normal, you know? I couldn't bear the thought that you'd end up like I did after you…" He broke off, still unable to talk about the night hellhounds had dragged Dean's soul to hell.

A muscle in Dean's jaw ticked. The thought of Lisa and Ben still hurt, even after all this time, but he kinda knew where Sam was going with this. If it hadn't been for them helping him to pick up the pieces of his life after he lost Sam, he might have ended up…he swallowed and looked back at his brother, knowing in his eyes.

Sam met his gaze, a sadness there so deep it reflected the darkness of the pre-dawn. His little brother broke eye contact first, looking out over the dark fields around them. "I kinda thought you'd want the same thing for me, you know?"

Dean swallowed hard. He did want that for Sam, and he didn't begrudge him his time with Amelia, really. Looking back, he wondered if his anger and bitterness had had less to do with Sam not looking for him and more to do with feeling left behind, forgotten…replaced.

"But I wasn't just thinking about what you would want," Sam continued. "I quit hunting for the sake of everyone else as well."

"What?" Dean twisted to look at him without comprehension.

Sam gave a little shrug and continued. "I've seen the kind of person I turn into when I hunt without you, Dean, and I hate that person. Every time I have been forced to hunt alone, I have hurt people, messed things up…almost destroyed the world. I didn't want to go there again…I couldn't. Not for you, not for Kevin…not for anybody."

Silence fell between the two and they could hear the birds chirping in the few trees near the road.

"Okay," Dean finally said.

"What?" Sam twisted to face him, surprised. Whatever he had expected his brother to say, it obviously hadn't been that.

"Okay," Dean repeated. "I can understand that, Sam…even if I don't really agree. Sure you've made mistakes, we both have, but your heart has always been in the right place. You're stronger than you think."

Sam huffed a laugh at that. "You know that's why I didn't tell you about the mental hospital after you got back? I didn't want you to know how badly I broke down after you left. I wanted you to think I was strong, like you…strong enough to take what I was given and move on."

"Sam," Dean said, his voice choked. Why couldn't his brother see what he could? "You _are_ strong. Stronger than I ever was. If it hadn't been for Lisa and Ben…"

But Sam was shaking his head. "It wasn't just then. When you disappeared in that bathroom yesterday, I fell apart again. If Doc hadn't been there to shake reason back into me…" He gave a short laugh that was anything but humorous. "I owe that man my life so many times over. When I was in the hospital, I didn't even want to keep living. You were at peace, or at least I thought you were, and I wanted so badly to join you."

"Wait," Dean interrupted. "You thought I was…"

"Dead, Dean," Sam confirmed. "I told you that before. I thought you were dead. I was pretty sure you weren't in Hell, since Crowley chose to rub my face in the fact that I was alone. If he'd had you, I have no doubt he would have let me know exactly what he was doing to you."

Dean narrowed his eyes at that. The King of Hell was going to get an earful from him when they got back home. But he didn't have a chance to think about that long as Sam was continuing. "I never even considered Purgatory as an option since all our research on that topic never once indicated that a human could go there…or an angel for that matter. And since Cas had disappeared at the same time as you, I figured he would make sure your soul went exactly where it should be.

"You thought I was in Heaven," he said slowly, understanding beginning to dawn.

Sam simply nodded. "And I was so jealous. I screamed and railed at you for leaving me, but I couldn't deny that you deserved the rest and I didn't have any right to try to bring you back." He swiped an arm across his eyes, turning away from Dean.

Dean was just as glad, since he couldn't see very well at the moment either. He'd never considered that his brother hadn't looked for him because he'd felt he didn't have the right. Although if he thought about it, he guessed only he was selfish enough to yank Sam back from a chance at peace just because he couldn't live without him. The guilt over tricking Sam into denying Death and accepting Ezekiel as a means to heal him tightened his chest, especially when he considered all his brother had been through and how much he wanted it to be over.

Swiping at his eyes angrily, he banished those thoughts. He needed Sam more than his brother knew and there was no way he was going to let him go while it was in his power to save him. His sense of self, of identity, was too wrapped up in Sam, and _that _was why his brother was stronger than he was.

"I just didn't know what to do," Sam said after a moment. "I didn't know who I was without you." Dean clenched his jaw at Sam's unwitting echo of his own thoughts. The idea that his brother needed him as much as he needed Sam, was not one he was willing to accept at the moment.

"I just knew what I _didn't _want. I didn't want to make the same mistakes I had before and I didn't want to be….alone." He whispered that last.

Neither one of them wanted to be alone. Both would fight to the death for the other. But the difference was that while Dean would sacrifice everything in heaven and on earth to keep Sam with him, Sam was willing to let Dean go if that was what Dean needed, even if it destroyed his little brother in the process.

"Sammy," Dean began, uncertain what to say. He had never been good at expressing his feelings and he didn't know what to say now. He wanted to tell Sam about Ezekiel, but he had to admit, if only to himself, that he didn't trust his brother not to leave him, and that was an option he refused to consider, even if Sam might hate him for it someday.

"I don't need you to say anything, Dean," Sam said, seemingly reading his mind once again. "I just needed you to understand where I'm coming from in all this."

"That's good," Dean said, clearing his throat roughly, " 'cause I'm afraid if I said anything right now, we both might start puking estrogen; and I don't know about you, but I've done enough yakking for a lifetime tonight."

Sam barked a surprised laugh, then bumped his shoulder against his brother's. "At least I don't have to take off all my clothes in public to prove my manhood." With another laugh, he darted just out of range of Dean's half-outraged punch and headed back for the driver's side of the car.

"Moaning Marty is gonna pay for that one, little brother…you just wait and see," Dean called after Sam, savoring the sound of his laughter. He stayed where he was for a few moments longer, watching the dawn break across the fields, filling the world with light and the promise of new beginnings.

**TBC**

**Coming up**: Now all that's left is getting rid of that pesky ghost. Easy…right? As always, I'd love to hear what you think.


	8. Chapter 8

**Title: Memories of Madness**

**Disclaimer: Don't own them, just playing. **

**Warnings: Brief mentions of attempted suicide and suicidal thoughts**

**-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

**Chapter 8**

"Thank God you're all right," Doctor Johnson gushed, ushering the two hunters into his office. "We were so worried that you'd been hurt or…" He didn't finish that statement, but Sam still flinched as he remembered his breakdown the day before.

Things felt easier between himself and his brother. His roadside confession had lifted a weight on his soul he hadn't even realized he'd been carrying and he wondered why he hadn't just told Dean all of that before. Why had it taken almost losing his brother again to force the painful wounds to the surface where they could be treated and start to heal?

He didn't know what Dean thought of everything he'd said. He had been unusually silent on the way back, though that might have been the exhaustion and trauma that eventually forced even his headstrong brother to seek the comfort of sleep. But it didn't matter. Even if his brother thought him an emotional girl, he'd said what needed to be said and he felt as though things were finally starting to look up.

As the brothers sat down in the chairs in front of the desk, the little doctor looked from one to the other. "So what do we do now?" he asked anxiously, unable to read the new vibe between the two men in front of him. Dean looked thoughtful, pensive, while Sam…Sam looked at peace, almost happy.

"Now that we know who the spirit is, we can end this once and for all," Sam explained.

"I just feel so bad for him," Mike said, biting his lip. "He didn't deserve to die and he isn't trying to hurt anyone, even now."

"You can't reason with a ghost," Sam said, flashing a grin at his brother, remembering all the times Dean had lectured him about that very same thing. Dean barked a laugh.

"Yeah, Doc. No matter how much he might seem like a good little ghost who's just trying to help, the fact is that he _**is**_ hurting people. And if this continues, more are going to die." Dean's grin turned predatory. "Besides he stole my clothes and phones, embarrassed me in front of a crowd of people and got me arrested…again. I'm not feeling any sympathy vibes toward him. I'm going to enjoy roasting his ass."

Dr. Mike sighed and ran his hand through his thinning hair. "I just want this to all be over. What do you need from me?"

"We came by to see if you know where Ol' Marty is buried," Dean replied. "We couldn't find that information in the file you gave us."

"It might be in his electronic file," the doctor said, nearly knocking over a stack of papers as he turned to his computer. His eyebrows scrunched as he stared at the screen, trying to find the correct file. He muttered absently to himself, backing out of one database and entering another.

"Isn't there a cemetery here on the grounds of the hospital?" Sam asked. He thought he remembered reading something about it when he had been researching for this case.

"Yes, there is," the doctor replied absently, "but it's no longer in use. Patients haven't been buried there since 1965. Ah, here it is. It looks like he was interred next to his sister and her family at Forest Hill Cemetery here in Anoka." Pulling out a piece of paper, he scribbled something on it and handed it to Dean. "There's the address of the cemetery and the plot location. What are you going to do?"

"What we do best," Dean said, sharing a grin with his brother. "We wait until nightfall and then this ghost is toast."

**-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

Forest Hill Cemetery was huge, large enough that Dean was very glad for the plot designation the doctor had given them. The idea of trying to search for a single grave in all of this without it was daunting. On the bright side, the grave they were after was located near the center of the cemetery, behind some fairly large shrubs that would provide some cover if they needed it.

After leaving Dr. Johnson's office, the brothers had visited the cemetery to find the grave and get their bearings. Then they had found a nearby diner for a late lunch and returned to the hotel to sleep until it was dark enough to do what they needed. Dean had still been feeling the effects of being 'flushed' and Sam had wanted to give it another day, but Dean just wanted to get it over with and put this place in the past where it belonged.

Now it was close to midnight and they had just finished unloading the supplies they had carried in from the car – a couple of sawed off shotguns, extra ammunition, a camp lantern for light, and plenty of salt and fuel. It paid to be extra prepared when doing this kind of work since neither wanted to have to come back later to finish the job.

Dean grunted as he stuck his shovel into the hard ground. "Not _quite_ frozen," he informed his brother quietly, aware of how sound could carry out here, "but it's hard enough. Not gonna be an easy dig."

Sam picked up the other shovel and began attacking the ground at the head of the grave. They began by carefully cutting the sod on top of the grave and peeling it away so that they could return it after they were finished. No use letting people know they had been there if they could help it.

In well-coordinated movements born of years of experience, the brothers worked together until the grave grew too deep to allow comfortable range of movement. Then Dean crawled out to take the first watch. Ghosts didn't usually get feisty until they started getting close to the coffin, but it didn't pay to get sloppy at this late stage in the game.

His back to Sam as he allowed his eyes and other senses to scan the silent graveyard, he considered how to approach the topic he wanted to discuss with his brother. Something Sam had said the previous night had been bugging him, but he hadn't had the courage to ask just yet.

Sam had been working in silence for some time before Dean decided to just charge right in. The worst his brother could do was clam up on him, but their talk on the side of the road had opened some doors that he wouldn't have dared approach before.

"Sam," he said quietly, voice pitched not to carry over the silent graveyard. "I've been wanting to ask you something." Hearing the scrape of the shovel pause, he hesitated, unsure if he really wanted to continue.

"Okay," Sam said with a grunt as he heaved a particularly heavy load of dirt out of the hole.

"I talked to Doctor Johnson about your time in the hospital." He felt more than saw his brother stiffen, heard the slight intake of breath that most others would have missed. "He didn't say much," he hurried to reassure, "but he did mention that things got pretty bad for you at the end. And then last night you said…" He cleared his throat before continuing hesitantly, "While I was gone, did you try to…" He broke off, unwilling now to say it out loud.

Sam was silent for a moment, then the scrape of the shovel continued. Dean wondered if his brother was going to make him spell it out, or worse, choose to ignore him, but then Sam said quietly, "Twice."

Dean tried to swallow, but the spit in his mouth seemed to have dried up with the confirmation that he might have returned from Purgatory to find his brother dead somewhere, or worse…never have found him at all. "What stopped you?" he asked hoarsely.

Sam didn't answer for a while, and the only sounds were the scrape-swish-thud of the shovel doing its work. Finally, he spoke, his voice as rough as Dean's. "In the hospital, it was Dr. Mike who got me to see that no matter how much I hated it, you wouldn't have wanted me to kill myself. You would have wanted me to move on, get past it and try to find a way to keep going without you."

"Damn straight," Dean replied fiercely. Sam didn't reply for a few minutes.

"Later, after I got out of the hospital, I was just kind of drifting, you know…not sure where I was going and what I was doing. Of course it probably didn't help that I'd gone off all my anti-depression medications cold turkey. One night I'd been drinking too much and I decided I didn't care what you wanted. Whether you liked it or not, I was going to join you and find some peace of my own. I decided to drive the Impala off a cliff…you know, bring your Baby with me if I could." He paused and didn't speak for a while, lost in the memories.

"What stopped you?" Dean asked again, horrified that not only had his little brother considered offing himself, he'd been planning to take Dean's precious car with him.

"I hit a dog, met a girl, tried for normal," Sam said suddenly, cutting into his thoughts. There was a touch of humor in his brother's voice as he echoed Dean's words from the first day they had come to Anoka that was unmistakable even in the face of such a grim topic.

"Guess I owe Amelia and that stupid dog more than I thought," Dean mused thoughtfully, his lips also twitching into a reluctant smile.

"Your turn," Sam said, leaning the shovel against the side of the grave and hauling himself out with a grunt. Dean took his place without a word and began scooping shovelfuls of cold heavy earth from the grave. They were getting close now. He should hit the casket in the next half hour or so. He got to work, getting into the rhythm of shoving the tool into the dirt, levering the dirt up and swinging it over the edge.

"What about you?" Sam's voice startled him, and he barely avoided driving the shovel through his toe. "Did you ever…?" His brother seemed just as unwilling to say it out loud as he had been.

Dean considered his answer for a moment before saying, "Nah…Came close a couple times, though," he admitted.

"What stopped you?" The parroting of his own questions back at him had been a technique Sam had used since they were kids. It was okay to ask about sensitive topics if big brother brought it up first. Dean cursed that habit now. Cold Oak flashed through his mind, followed by his father's death, Hell, the Apocalypse, nearly saying "Yes" to Michael, Sam jumping into the Pit, Bobby's death, Purgatory.

"Decided this body was too good looking to feed the worms with, yet," he deflected, jokingly. Sam didn't need to hear about his big brother's struggles with depression on top of his own all too recent experiences.

"Dean…" Sam started to protest, then warned, "Head's up!" Dean jerked his head up and out of the grave, feeling the plunge in the temperature that signaled the presence of a spirit.

"Why?" Marty Foster's voice came out of the darkness beyond the light of the camp lantern. "Why are you trying to hurt me? I thought you were different. I thought you'd understand."

Then Dean caught a glimpse of a small mousy man, dressed in hospital scrubs, with huge glasses and hair that stuck up all over the place. Tears streamed from his face as he stepped closer. Sam had frozen at the ghost's words, uncertainty and pain visible on his face even in the dim lighting.

"I must protect them. I must get them out…send them to safety," he moaned, taking another few steps closer to Sam.

"Sam!" Dean barked, startling his brother. Sam jerked and then fired the shotgun, dissolving the ghost.

"Hurry up, Dean," Sam said, turning quickly around to try to keep up a 360 degree surveillance. "I don't think this ghost is going to stay friendly much longer."

"Ya think?" Dean muttered, shoveling faster. Sweat dripped in his eyes from the exertion, but he ignored it, focusing on the task at hand. This was always the tricky part. "Yahtzee," he called, as his shovel thunked into something solid.

The air grew cold again and Sam swung around barely in time to fire at the suddenly furious Marty Foster, who was charging at Dean in an attempt to stop him.

Dean scraped the remaining dirt from the coffin, trying to ignore the sounds from above. When he had enough of the dirt cleared away, he slammed the shovel into the latch on the side of the coffin, breaking it open, and then scooped out a place for his feet, off to the side, so he could gain the leverage to open it.

A cry from his brother had him popping his head up from the hole in time to see the ghost fling Sam 10 feet away into a large granite mausoleum. Sam stumbled back to his feet, but the ghost charged and grabbed him before he could completely recover from the fall, slamming his head and shoulders over and over into the hard surface behind them. "Now you'll know what I felt!" the ghost howled, punctuating each word with a thunk of Sam's head.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, almost completely unaware of hauling himself out of the grave and charging the ghost, the other shotgun in his hand. Although his brother would catch some of the salt from the gun, he had no time to find a better angle, so he fired. Marty disappeared with a screech and Sam began to fall forward.

"Sammy!" Dean called again, sliding the last few feet on his knees to grab his brother before he hit the ground. In a position much too close to Cold Oak for his liking, he cradled his brother's head onto his shoulder and began feeling for damage. The stickiness of blood covered the back of Sam's head and Dean felt his heart stutter in his chest when his questing fingers discovered a spongy patch on his brother's skull. "No, no, no, no…you're not doing this to me again, Sam," he said frantically, his hands shaking as he felt for any more damage.

"Finish it."

The words were breathy near his left ear, but Dean almost sobbed at the signs of life, even as he was protesting. "I gotta get you out of here. Gotta get you safe…get some help."

"Finish it, Dean. Please." Sam's eyes were closed when Dean leaned him back, but he struggled to open them to stare pleadingly at his brother.

Dean cursed savagely even as he realized Sam was right. The ghost had crossed the line into vengeful because of their actions and leaving the job unfinished might cost even more people their lives. Laying his brother gently on the ground, he barely had time to grab the gun and blast Marty into shreds as the ghost charged them again, shrieking worse than a banshee.

Darting back to the salt can, he grabbed it and raced to his brother, laying a careful circle of salt in the grass around his fallen sibling. It wouldn't hold long if it held at all, but it might be enough to protect Sam while Dean finished the job.

Taking the salt can with him back to the grave, he dispatched Marty one more time before dropping the gun in favor of the container of fuel and jumping into the grave. He wrenched the coffin open, ignoring the sour, musty smell of death. Rapidly shaking both fuel and salt over the corpse, he then tossed the containers out of the pit and levered himself up after them. He barely paused to catch a breath before lighting his Zippo and tossing it in. Marty's dying screech echoed in the dark graveyard around them as flames whooshed up from the grave.

Dean rolled onto his back, gasping for air before climbing to his feet once more to go check on his brother. Sam was out cold, his features pale and ghostly in the moonlight. "Zeke," Dean snapped, even as he struggled to get some response from his brother, "Don't you let him die like this. C'mon! Work your mojo! Do something!" Sam remained still and silent, even the angel inside him uncommunicative.

Glancing around frantically, Dean made some decisions. He ran back to the grave to grab his own denim jacket as well as his brother's favorite dark brown one from where it had been discarded on the ground when the work had begun to make them sweat. Snatching them up, something in Sam's jacket caught his eye, and he opened it up to look closer. Marveling, he traced his fingers over the intricate protection symbols embroidered on the inside before snapping back to the business at hand.

Moving back to Sam's side, he folded up his own jacket and carefully tucked it under Sam's still bleeding head. With the obvious skull fracture, he couldn't apply the usual pressure to stop the bleeding. He hoped the weight of his brother's head against the thick fabric might at least slow the hemorrhaging. Shaking Sam's jacket out, he laid it over his brother's still form.

"I'm gonna get you back to the hotel and safe real soon, little brother," he said quietly. "Just gotta cover our tracks here a bit first." He hoped he wasn't making the wrong decision by not taking Sam to the hospital immediately. He was still banking on Zeke showing up and the thought of his little brother in a hospital bed so soon after last time…the thought curdled the contents of his stomach. If the angel didn't respond by the time they got to the hotel, he'd call Doc Johnson. The little doctor might specialize in a different kind of head trauma, but he still had the medical training to help.

Gathering all their tools except for one shovel, he wiped them down carefully before hiding them under the bushiest of the nearby shrubs. Hopefully they would remain undiscovered until he came back for them later. But even if they were found, there would be nothing on them to trace back to them.

Darting back to the grave, he deemed the flames had done enough of their job to allow him to scoop back in the dirt. He did this in double time, replaced the sod, and then tried to decide the best way to get his unconscious gigantor of a brother back to the car.

**TBC**

**A/N: **Oh dear…another cliffie. evil grin Hope you enjoyed it. Last chapter should be out on Tuesday. As always, I'd love to hear what you think.


	9. Chapter 9

**Title: Memories of Madness**

**Disclaimer: Don't own them, just playing. **

**Warnings: Mild bathroom humor**

**A/N: This chapter was originally going to be just the Epilogue, but it was so much more fun to give you guys a small cliff hanger. So, here's the resolution to this story. Enjoy.**

**-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

**Chapter 9**

Shifting the gear into park, Dean turned to his brother who was slumped against the window in the passenger seat. Leaning over, he gently peeled back the field bandage he had hastily applied at the cemetery. He closed his eyes briefly in relief that the bleeding appeared to have slowed to a gentle seepage.

"Sam, I need you to wake up for me, buddy," he prodded gently. For the first time since their arrival in this town, he cursed their accommodations. There was no way he was getting Sam inside unnoticed if he had to carry him. The blood on his jacket and the bandage on his head were bad enough. "Sam," he said a bit more sharply, then, when that gained no response, "Zeke? I could use some help here."

The flash of blue light was followed by his brother straightening slowly in the other seat.

"About time," Dean sniped. "I've been calling you since Sam got hurt."

The look Ezekiel turned on him was not amused, but then Dean wasn't feeling much like laughing at the moment either.

"I told you before, Dean, I cannot keep doing this. It is taking nearly everything I have to heal the damage wrought by the Trials. When I must heal other wounds as well, it weakens me. I was unable to answer your call earlier because I was too busy keeping your brother alive." Turning stiffly, the angel looked out the windshield toward the front entrance of the hotel.

"How is he?" Dean asked hesitantly.

"Alive," Ezekiel replied, not looking at him. "I assume you need my assistance to get him inside."

"I'd rather have him awake enough to do it himself, but, yeah, you'll do in a pinch," Dean said, feeling a bit surly at the angel's lecture.

"I have placed your brother in a deep sleep where he will regain the energy needed to heal better," Ezekiel explained, climbing out of the car and beginning to walk stiffly toward the entrance. Dean scrambled out of his side, and quickly caught up with him.

"I have mended the worst of the damage to his head, but the remainder as well as 2 cracked ribs will have to heal naturally," the angel continued. "I do not have enough energy left to finish what I am working on and take care of that, too."

"It's just as well," Dean muttered. "Sam's woken up one too many times certain he should have multiple injuries only to find nothing. He's getting suspicious." He hated his brother hurting at all, but he knew there was no help for it.

"I can keep his suspicions from growing," Ezekiel reassured. "But you are right that this will help in that regard."

The rest of the trip to their room was made in silence, and once he made it to the far bed, Ezekiel lowered Sam's body down gently and looked at Dean one final time. "I must return to my work before all is undone. You must strive to take better care of your brother, Dean, at least until I am finished here."

With that, he retreated and Sam returned to his former unconscious self. Dean growled at the implication that he wasn't doing his job very well, but the angel wasn't around to yell at anymore, so he simply sighed and went to fetch the first aid kit and several wet washcloths so that he could patch his little brother up.

Placing the kit on the stand between the beds, he put his hands on his hips and surveyed Sam's limp form. "Least he could have done is taken care of the blood," he grumbled, before sitting on the edge of the bed and rolling his brother onto his side so he could see his head. "Come on, Sasquatch. Let's get all that pretty fur of yours cleaned up."

**-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

Sam groaned as he slowly returned to consciousness. He was certain that if he opened his eyes right now, he'd find dozens of tiny miners clinging to his scalp repeatedly driving mining picks into his skull. Or maybe his brother's favorite drummer had chosen his head to practice on.

He sensed movement nearby and felt someone sit on the bed next to him. He should probably do something about that. Dean would kick his butt for allowing someone to get this close to him while he was sleeping, but he couldn't think around the pain and couldn't bring himself to care. Except…

Dean! The thought of his brother made his eyes fly open, which he promptly realized was a mistake. The sudden influx of light into his sluggish irises made the pain flare white hot. He barely felt someone turning him and shoving a trash can under his face before he was upchucking. The fire in his head pulsed in time with the heaves making him wish for someone to just chop his head off and be done with it.

When the retching slowed down and finally stopped, he felt a cool cloth wash gently over his face. Then something cold was draped over his head, bringing with it a little relief.

"Here, Sammy," a voice said from beside him, and he nearly groaned again, this time in relief as he recognized his big brother's voice. "Doc figured you'd be in too much pain to keep down pills, so he gave me a shot with some of the good stuff. You'll feel better soon." Sam felt a pinch and prick in his hip, and a few minutes later, warmth seemed to steal through him, dimming the pain and allowing him to flow back into darkness.

**-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

Sometime later, Sam swam his way to the surface once more and slowly began to take stock of himself before he opened his eyes. The pain was still there in his head and upper back, but it was much more manageable than before. At least he didn't feel like he was going to die if he moved.

Blinking his eyes open, he realized the room was mostly dark, only a line of light from the bathroom giving any illumination. Even as he felt grateful for that, his eyes were sweeping the room for his brother. He found Dean sitting in the chair at the table near the foot of his bed, head cradled in his arms, obviously asleep.

Other than the whole sleeping in a chair bit, his brother looked like he was okay, so Sam let his eyes close for a moment longer as he decided what to do next. The pressure from his bladder told him a visit to the bathroom was next on the agenda, so he carefully rolled himself onto his side and maneuvered himself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Once up, he had to hold himself still, eyes clenched tightly shut as the room tilted and swirled and spikes of fire shot through his head and upper back.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice came, scratchy with sleep. And then his brother was there beside him, hand on his shoulder and knee. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Bathroom, Dean," Sam said tiredly. "Unless you want to bring it to me."

"I think we might have an empty water bottle around here somewhere," Dean started, but Sam's eyes shot open in mortification and he grabbed his brother's wrist.

"Joking, Dean," he growled, cheeks coloring. "I was joking. I can make it to the bathroom."

"Man, you are such a prude," Dean said with a grin, standing and helping lever his younger brother to his feet. "How's your head?"

"Remember that Metallica concert we went to last month?" Dean winced in sympathy as Sam nodded.

"Least you're not puking your guts up this time," Dean observed, letting go of his brother as they reached the bathroom. "Call if you need me."

Sam shakily finished his business, then stared at himself in the mirror, squinting in the harsh light. He looked gaunt and pale, a white bandage wrapped around his head. Following the bandage with his fingers, he felt a large pad in the back over what was obviously the source of his pain. Dimly he remembered the ghost slamming him against the mausoleum over and over and he grimaced.

Running some water in the sink, he washed his hands, then wet a washcloth to run over his face, scrubbing at the gunk in his eyes and at the corners of his mouth. He felt much steadier after doing that and opened the door to find his brother leaning against the wall opposite, waiting for him.

"I'm fine, Dean," he said, moving slowly into the room under his own power this time. He walked back to his bed and slumped down to the edge, then straightened with a gasp as his ribs protested.

"Yeah, you're just fine," his brother murmured and Sam found a hand with a couple pills in them and another with a bottle of water thrust at him. He thought about arguing, but just took the pills and the water and tossed them back before laying gingerly back on the bed.

"You've got several cracked ribs along with a concussion. Probably going to be hurting for a while." He grimaced in agreement and closed his eyes against the light of the lamp Dean had turned on while he'd been in the bathroom. He felt the bunched covers jerked out from under his body and then laid gently on top of him once more. He smiled his appreciation without opening his eyes.

"You're lucky you're so hard headed. That cut on the back of your skull isn't nearly as bad as it could have been, although it was a pain to fight all of that stupid hair of yours just to get it cleaned up. I almost shaved you bald." Sam directed a glare at his grinning brother before closing his eyes once more.

"How long have I been out?" he asked after a moment. He heard his brother moving about the room, and then darkness fell once more as the lamp clicked off.

" 'Bout 24 hours, give or take," Dean admitted as he climbed into the other bed. "You've been in and out but not really lucid 'til now. Doc even came by to check you over. Guess he didn't trust my ability to take care of you. Lot of that going around lately."

Sam was puzzled by the bitter tone in Dean's voice, but the medicine was starting to kick in and he was getting drowsy.

"You okay?" he asked, that question being the one thing he needed to know before he drifted back to sleep.

He expected a smart comeback, but all Dean said was, "Yeah, I'm fine, Sam. Go back to sleep. We'll see how you're feeling in the morning and then maybe we can finally head for home."

" 'Kay," Sam responded, his voice slurring with sleep, and he allowed himself to be pulled under once more.

**-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

**Epilogue**

"But I don't wanna."

"Whining like a 5 year old isn't gonna get the job done any faster, Sammy."

"I'm injured."

"You were well enough to snap at me for trying to help you this morning."

"You do it."

"I did it last time. It's your turn."

"I'll play you for it. Rock-paper-scissors."

"No way, Dude. That game is rigged. Just get in there and get it over with. It's probably safe."

"Yeah, your confidence is overwhelming."

"What's the matter? You chicken? Scared 'ol Moaning Marty will come back and bite you in the butt?"

"If you didn't think it was at least a possibility, we wouldn't be here," Sam said glumly.

"You were the one who insisted we make sure before we left," Dean replied firmly, stamping down even a glimmer of the humor he fought to keep from his face.

Both brothers stood in the bathroom where Marty Foster had died, staring at the toilet that had taken Dean a little more than 2 days previously. Sam gave a huff from beside him, and Dean barely kept from grinning in triumph as he realized his brother had given in.

"Fine," he said, stomping into the stall and closing the door.

Dean laughed and leaned against the sinks to wait. He didn't really think Marty Foster was still around or he'd never have let Sam go in there. Still, he had to keep his little brother in his place somehow and what better way was there than by making him do the dirty work.

"Sammy?" he called, hearing some disturbing sounds coming from the stall. "You okay in there?"

He moved closer still when he heard his brother grunt, but then skipped backwards in horror and disgust.

"Oh, Dude! Please tell me you found something dead in there, 'cause no way that smell came from you."

Sam's laugh echoed around the large bathroom. "You were the one who wanted to visit that chili dog stand."

"Oh man." Dean gagged, as he backed toward door. "I'm gonna go find Doc. You can meet me there when you're done." Opening the door, he paused before going out and called back, "Get it out of your system, Sammy, 'cause you are NOT getting in my Baby until you do."

**-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

_-Flashback, Anoka State Hospital, Room 107, two years previously—_

"_You aren't ready, Sam." Doctor Mike Johnson eyed the young man in front of him, making no effort to hide the worry and dismay on his face._

"_I'm as ready as I'm gonna be, Doc," Sam said, stubbornness firming his jaw and darkening his eyes. "I'm grateful for all you've done for me, I really am, but I'm not going to figure things out by hiding in here."_

_Mike watched his patient move around the room, stuffing a few items into a bag taken from the trash can. He didn't own much, even after more than three months at the hospital. The doctor had gotten him a couple sets of clothing and some toiletries to leave with, although he intended to do his best to talk him out of this. _

"_Just give it a couple more weeks. We can…"_

"_No," Sam's voice was hard, determined, and Mike sighed. He was scared of what would happen to this angry young man, so full of bitterness and despair. He had a feeling that if he let him walk out that door, Sam would be dead within the month._

"_I could keep you here, you know…refuse to sign the paperwork." Considering what he had learned about Sam, he didn't think it would work, but he had to try. _

_Sam looked down and smirked a bit before reaching into his pocket and pulling something out. "Sorry, Doc, but I don't really think you can," he said, beginning to walk by the doctor but stopping and pressing whatever it was into Mike's hand._

_Mike looked down to see Sam's ankle bracelet in his palm. Before he could ask how the young man had gotten it off, the door closed softly and with finality behind him._

_Whirling, he went through the door and looked down the hallway. Sam was shrugging on his dark brown jacket and was making no effort to hide from the nurses and orderlies as he walked down the corridor. Still, under the confidence was a vulnerability and sadness that made the doctor's heart ache._

_Bowing his head, he made his way back to his office where he placed a call to security with instructions not to stop the tall young man. Seeing him leave was hard since this one had found a place in his heart. But sink or swim, it was time to let Sam go._

-Present-

Doctor Johnson stood in the covered walkway that connected the buildings of the mental institution where, just moments before, he had bid Sam and Dean good-bye. Looking through the large picture windows that faced the central courtyard, he watched as the two young men made their way down the sidewalk toward the main administration building. Dean leaned over and said something to his younger brother to which Sam responded with a laugh and a shove.

Dean pantomimed falling, wind milling his arms dramatically and Sam laughed again. Mike felt a surge of satisfaction fill him as he watched the happy interaction between the brothers. There was a spring in Sam's step that spoke of hope and contentment. It was so different from the last time he had watched the young man walk away that it almost took his breath away, and Mike knew the reason was walking right next to him.

Smiling, he turned to go back inside to his office and the endless paperwork there. He had no doubt that Sam would be all right now, as long as his brother was there beside him.

**-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

A/N – And so we come to the end of this adventure. I'm hoping you ejoyed it as much as I did. Here are a few facts you might find interesting.

Though not intended as a crossover in any way, this story was partially inspired by Moaning Myrtle and the Vanishing Cabinet in J.K. Rowling's books. My nod of thanks to her genius.

The location – Anoka-Metro Regional Treatment Center - is a real place and is considered a hotspot for supernatural activity. The tunnels under the old facility are real as are stories of encounters with ghosts there. I discovered this place entirely by accident as I had decided to put Sucrocorp headquarters in Minneapolis and was looking for a mental hospital nearby where Sam might have conceivably been taken. The reports of hauntings at the hospital were entirely a bonus though the timing and setting of my story prevented me from making full use of them.

I did take some liberties on the layout, staffing, etc. for the hospital as I could not get any information on anything other than the exterior of the buildings.

My thanks to TVRacer who helped with the location of the police station in Chicago where Dean would have been taken after being arrested in front of Sears Tower.

Forest Hill Cemetery and the cemetery on the grounds of the mental hospital are both real places with some fascinating history.

The Pocket Alien Foil protection kit was taken from a real article in an online tabloid. They actually were selling it for $250. I laughed so hard after reading it that I couldn't help but include it in the story for your enjoyment as well.

My thanks to all who took the time to read and comment on this story. You guys are great!


End file.
